


The Destiel Project

by Pigzxo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Anxiety Attacks, Drug Use, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-07-17 22:18:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 77
Words: 213,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16104950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pigzxo/pseuds/Pigzxo
Summary: Dean is a rock star with a bad reputation in the tabloids and his contract's up for renewal. Cas is an out-of-work actor with two big-budget flops under his belt. Their publicist comes up with a solution -- pretend to date to temper Dean's reputation and bolster Cas' star power.But Dean's habits are exactly the kind of thing Cas hates and Cas' closed-off professionalism makes him Dean's definition of a buzzkill. Not to mention that when Dean finds someone attractive, he likes to fuck it out of his system. And Cas, well, he made his agent promise to pull him from the arrangement if things get too real.





	1. Chapter 1

Dean woke on his last day of the tour the same way he had every other day of the tour – hungover, disoriented, and staring at a giant picture of his cock. Okay, so maybe the picture was a new edition. Dean squinted, trying to make sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing, and then rolled onto his stomach to get a better look.

            “Where’d you get that?” He reached for the photo.

            His manager, Chuck, ripped the photo away with a flourish. He slammed it down onto the trailer’s kitchen counter and said, “I got that from an overzealous magazine editor that demanded a ridiculous sum of money for it despite the fact that he wouldn’t have been able to run it in his publication.”

            Dean chuckled even as he rubbed his temples. His head pounded, but a pounding headache paired with a classic Chuck tirade went down as smooth as a mimosa nowadays. He let his face fall back into the pillow and mumbled, “Why not just let him keep it?”

            “Because.” Chuck slammed his fist onto the counter again – Dean groaned and was unsurprised to hear a second voice joining his own – “If he didn’t run it in the magazine, then he’d post it on the internet. And if he couldn’t do that, he’d SnapChat it to all his dumb friends and eventually there’d be a trending article about your dick blowing up goddamn BuzzFeed.”

            Dean thought he wanted to laugh again but the bubbling sensation in his throat turned out to be vomit. He managed to shift enough to puke on the floor instead of his mattress, but still ended up coughing out the acrid end as his stomach spasmed. A warm hand touched his hip, he felt a body lean over him, and then a voice near his ear said, “That’s disgusting, man.”

            Chuck cursed. “How fucking long has he been there?”

            “I don’t know,” Dean said. “What time did I leave the after party?”

            Chuck turned around with a litany of curses as Dean turned his head to see the man lying in bed with him. Not bad, considering the beer goggles he must have had by the end of that party. He didn’t remember much of it – post-concert high mixed with a little bit of coke and all the vodka he could pound before getting thrown out of the club left little short-term memory intact – but he wished he remembered that pretty face smashed up against his. The dark stubble alone was the stuff of his darkest fantasies, not to mention his muscular arms, dark skin, and pearly white smile even as he looked down at Dean’s having-recently-puked face.

            “Hey,” Dean said, loving how he didn’t have to put on the rough and gravelly voice he normally used to get into situations like this. It was just there. God bless hangovers and dehydration. “Did I ever get your name?”

            The man hummed. “Don’t think I gave it while throwing you out of the bar.”

            Dean chuckled. “Fucked the bouncer. There’s a new one.”

            The man leaned down and kissed him rough. Rough enough that Dean rolled back into the kiss, pulling him closer, losing himself in a little before—

            “Stop! Stop this right now!”

            Dean groaned and turned his head towards Chuck. The man sat up, raising his hands in surrender, a mischievous smile on his face. Chuck snapped his fingers at him, “Out. Now.” And Dean groaned in protest even as his hands slipped from the muscular, broad body on top of him. He threw an arm over his eyes, listening to the sounds of the man dressing and leaving.

            “Do you have to ruin everything, Chuck?” Dean said.

            “This is serious, Dean. One of your hookups took a picture of your dick and sold it to the tabloids.”

            “So?” He opened one eye to see Chuck pacing. “I have a nice dick.”

            Chuck laughed. A delirious, high-pitched sound that made Dean want to put in earplugs. “You think that’s the point? You think I should be less concerned because _you have a nice dick_?” He paused only long enough to take a short, clipped breath, then knelt down to look Dean in the eye. “You are out of fucking control, Dean. This whole tour has been a press nightmare. You’re drunk or high or fucking someone every time a camera points your direction. You’ve been in the news cycle for weeks. Social media is _blowing up_ with group chats from the girls you fuck.”

            Dean sighed. “Then I’ll only fuck guys.”

            Chuck hit him across the face with the photo and Dean rolled towards the wall. He hit his head, let out a pathetic wail, and then closed his eyes tight. Chuck grabbed his shoulder and turned him over again.

            “You’re missing the point. This shit has to stop.”

            “Why?”

            “Because you’ve missed three concerts,” Chuck said. “You’ve missed eight interviews and thirteen fan experiences. You keep ending up at dive bars in town instead of at the sanctioned, _sponsored_ after-parties.”

            “So?”

            “Your label is talking about dropping you.”

            Dean felt his stomach heave. He puked again right on Chuck’s shoes. Without apologizing, he pushed himself into a sitting position and pressed two fingers into his temple to stop the shooting pain working its way through his brain. “They can’t do that,” Dean snapped. “I have a contract. It’s airtight. You told me that.”

            “Yeah, almost two years ago when you signed a _two-year, two album_ contract.”

            Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes tight. “And now... now what, they just want to drop me? Just like that? I make them more money than Justin-freaking-Bieber and they want to drop me?”

            “You’re a liability. You don’t make them so much money that they’re willing to be sued for letting you loose in the world.”

            Slowly, Dean opened one eye and then the other. Miraculously, Chuck was still standing right in front of him, puke on his shoes and all. His expression was dead serious, eyes unblinking. Dean rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, trying to bring the trailer into focus, to see something other than the blur of yellow-orange walls past Chuck, but to no avail.

            “What can we do?” Dean asked.


	2. Chapter 2

Cas knew the meeting meant bad news far before he even stepped foot into the room. If he was being honest, he had known the meeting was bad news the moment he saw his publicist’s name pop up on his phone screen. Sam didn’t call him. Sam didn’t have reason to call him between him being a notorious recluse and his last two movies flopping, leaving him jobless and un-hireable for the last six months.

            Cas walked towards the meeting with low expectations and opened the door with even lower ones. Around a large white conference table, three people sat. One was his publicist, Sam Winchester, dressed in a suit worth more than Cas’ alimony payments and drinking a glass of ice water; the second was his agent, Charlie Bradbury, lounging with her feet up on the table; and the third was a man he didn’t know with a greying beard and bags under his eyes.

            Cas felt his stomach drop into his feet. His publicist, his agent, and an unknown man all in one room. He knew he’d been doing badly for both of them, making no money, but he didn’t think it was so drastic that they’d have to hire a third party just to break his contract. He’d let them out of it without the lawyers – this seemed unnecessary.

            Still, he hesitated in the doorway for only a moment before stepping in. “Sam,” he said with a nod. “Charlie.”

            Charlie, in true Charlie fashion, leaped up from the table and gave him a hug. Despite the sinking feeling in his gut, Cas hugged her back with a smile. He took the seat next to her at her insistence and took the glass of water Sam’s assistant offered him. He even managed to give her a thin smile.

            And then the silence started. Everyone fell out of rhythm, out of conversation, and Cas wondered if he would have to start the end of his own career. The man with the grey beard checked his watch and let out a long sigh. Sam drummed two fingers against the table, impatient but trying not to look it. Charlie took out her phone and started to put SnapChat filters over Cas’ face. Odd. She usually only did that to add it to his SnapChat feed – a form of social media he did not understand at all, no matter how many times his daughter tried to explain it to him.

            “I’m sorry,” Cas said, after five minutes had passed in silence. “Are we waiting for someone else?”

            “Yes,” the bearded man sighed out with such fierce disdain that Cas thought he must have offended him.

            Sam put on a strained smile. “I’m sure he’ll be here any moment.”

            “Who?” Cas said as his brain raced to think of who else would be needed in this situation. Was the bearded man not a lawyer or were they simply waiting for a second lawyer? Did he have more people helping with his career and he’d simply forgotten? Was his maid leaving him too?

            “Dean,” Sam said.

            Cas barely managed to hide the confusion that overcame him. The name meant just slightly less than nothing to him. He knew that Sam had an older brother named Dean, who was a walking tabloid scandal, but he’d never met the man and he had even less idea how he could possibly be involved in this meeting. He slid his eyes from Sam to the bearded man, looking for some clue about what this meant.

            The bearded man extended his hand across the table. “I’m Chuck. Dean’s manager.”

            Cas shook his hand. “Cas,” he said. “Castiel Novak.”

            “I know. I saw you in _Lifeline_. That was a good flick.”

            “Thanks.”

            The silence fell again, punctured only by the ticking of a clock. Cas tried not to dwell on the _Lifeline_ comment, as if his last two films hadn’t existed at all, as if he hadn’t done anything worthwhile in the last three years. He pressed his fist to his mouth and pulled out his phone. He didn’t realize he was shaking until Charlie put her hand on his elbow and said, “Are you okay?”

            “Are you going to get this over with?” he said as calmly and politely as he could. “I know why we’re here. You don’t have to drag it out.”

            Charlie gave him an odd look, her mouth opening and then immediately closing, her brows furrowing. “How could you possibly know what this is about considering you haven’t called me back in a week and Sam says he finally reached you through _email_?”

            Cas shrugged. “It’s not rocket science.”

            “Why do you think we’re here?”

            “You and Sam are dropping me as a client.”

            Charlie stared at him. “And Chuck is here because...?”

            Cas opened his mouth to reply and then promptly shut it. He had been asking himself why Dean was coming but Charlie posed a good question too. Sam’s brother was a mystery, but Sam’s brother’s manager? An odd choice for firing him, or for any reason he might be there, really. He tried to formulate a question that would get him to the answer he wanted – one with more finesse than _why is he here_ – but couldn’t find the right words before the doors to the conference room opened with a bang.

            A tall man with short, spiked hair and a stubble-covered chin waltzed into the room. His hips swung lazily, his stance slightly bow-legged. He wore dark sunglasses over his eyes and a quilted leather jacket. With slow steps, he made his way around the table and slung himself down in a chair one down from Chuck. He kicked one leg up on the table, lowered his sunglasses to wink at Charlie, and said, “Sammy, what the fuck?”

            Sam took a visible breath and forced a smile. “Good of you to join us, Dean.”

            “You said ten o’clock. It’s...” He frowned and leaned over to look at Chuck’s watch. “Ten twenty-two. Close enough.”

            Sam stared at him for a long moment, blinked slowly, and then turned his attention to the centre of the table. He placed his palms on the table and said, “Since neither of you have returned my calls, neither of you are aware of why you’re here. So let me put it in the simplest terms for both of you.

            “Dean, your reputation is in the toilet. Your contract is coming up for review and if you can’t turn it around by then, you’ll be dropped from your label. Castiel, your last two movies have flopped in the box office and you’re having trouble landing the kind of roles you want and deserve because of it.”

            “So what,” Dean said, “this is a meeting of your worst clients?”

            Cas snorted and bit down on his smile.

            Over top of his sunglasses, Dean’s eyes shot towards him, glinting in the sunlight. “Want us to commiserate over our fallen careers? Get a drink and agree to leave you better off?”

            Cas barely managed to hide his smile as he looked down and then back at Sam.

            Sam glared at his brother. “No. Chuck came to me with the problem of your image, since it is my job to manage it, and I called Charlie with a possible solution.”

            “Which is?”

            Sam cleared his throat and shot what seemed to be an apologetic glance Cas’ way. That sinking feeling in his stomach came back, followed by an immediate drop when Sam started to speak again. “Castiel has an impeccable reputation when it comes to long-term relationships and dating. He’s as straight-laced as they come. Dean, whether your label wants you or not, your popularity is through the roof. There’s not a magazine in the world that’ll run an issue without your picture in it. So—”

            “No,” Cas said. He looked from Sam’s sudden shock to Charlie’s worried face. He couldn’t decide who to focus on, who deserved the fallout from this. But he kept himself calm as he said, “That’s not happening.”

            Sam started, “You haven’t even heard—”

            “You want us to pretend to be dating for the paparazzi. I’m not an idiot, Sam.” The feeling in his stomach quieted and the anger simmered to a dark calm. He focused first on Charlie. “I can’t believe you thought I would agree to this. Between my children and my not being out, I can’t believe you would even take a moment to _think_ about this. And you—” Cas turned his head to look at Sam and simply stared for a moment. “The blatant favouritism towards your brother is shocking for someone with your level of professionalism. But even if it wasn’t, don’t you remember what happened the last time you suggested something like this?”

            “You fell in love with Kelly. That’s—”

            “On me?” Cas suggested. “You’re right. That’s on me. But it is just so incredibly unsympathetic to sit there and explain this like it’s a business decision when the last time it ruined my life.”

            “Don’t say that.” Charlie grabbed his hand and squeezed. “You and Kelly had two beautiful children who you love more than anything. You were married for fifteen years. You were happy.”

            “I shouldn’t have been.” Cas pulled his hand out of hers and rolled his chair back. “But since you brought it up, my kids. I love my damn kids and I am still under supervised visitation so why the fuck do you think I would willingly bring Dean Winchester into my public life?”

            For the first time since Sam started speaking, Cas’ eyes landed on Dean. Dean, who was still completely relaxed. The only thing that had changed was his sunglasses were now resting on top of his head. His eyes were calm, focused, and his expression completely unreadable.

            “I’m sorry,” Cas said, because it seemed like the right thing to say, “but I’ve seen the tabloids. I know what your life is like. And if the press thinks I’m with you, if I have to confirm it, Kelly will take away my visitation with a snap of her fingers. And I can’t... I won’t give up Jack and Claire like that.”

            Dean licked his lips, a slow, measured movement that spoke paragraphs without him even having to say a word. “Kelly won the divorce hearing then?”

            “Yes.”

            “What’s your alimony like?”

            Cas blinked. He felt caught in Dean’s green eyes, caught by the clarity and focus of his expression. He didn’t pay a ton of attention to the paparazzi but even he couldn’t miss the magazine covers of Dean puking on the sidewalk, of him covered in men and women and cocaine. If he had thought he was meeting Dean Winchester, he wouldn’t have expected this from him.

            “High,” Cas said.

            “High enough that without a movie role and a box office hit in three years, you’re struggling?”

            Cas felt the blow like a physical punch but he swallowed it down. He nodded.

            “I can clean up my act.” Dean straightened in his seat. “That’s what this whole meeting is about. But if the press doesn’t get pictures of me, they’re just going to start rumours about how I’m in rehab or on a bender. No matter what I tell them afterwards, things will spiral. Because they don’t trust me like they trust you. And they shouldn’t. That’s where you come in. If you say I’ve cleaned up, if you say you trust me not to be sleeping around, the world will believe it.”

            Cas shook his head. “Kelly won’t.”

            “Kelly doesn’t have to. A judge has to.” Dean shifted in his seat and then pinched the bridge of his nose. Cas wondered how he didn’t see it before – the sunglasses, the lazy walk, the slight slur to Dean’s speech – he was either massively hungover or still a little drunk. Maybe both. But he held himself together better than expected. “Look, we need each other. You clean up my image and I make you popular enough to headline a movie again. You get the money for your alimony and I get a new contract. And then we go our separate ways.”

            “My kids—”

            “Are gonna love it,” Dean said. “Come on. Their dad’s dating a fucking gorgeous rock star. They get to meet said fucking gorgeous rock star. What’s the problem?”

            Cas stared at him. “My daughter’s a lesbian and my son’s straight.”

            Dean burst into laughter and Cas couldn’t help but smile back. The man had an infectious charm, the kind of attitude that Cas had steered clear of his whole life. He had no doubt that as the biggest pushover to ever live, a man like Dean could destroy him with a snap of his fingers. But as weak as he was, he couldn’t let that happen. Not again. Not after Kelly.

            Sam cleared his throat. “I understand that there are things to think about here. I’ll give you both some time to do so. But in the meantime, if you’re leaning towards going for it, please don’t wind up in the tabloids with anyone else.” He shot Dean a pointed look.

            Dean crossed his heart with two fingers. “Scout’s honour.”

            Cas pushed back his chair and headed for the doors without waiting for a formal dismissal. Dean’s words rolled around in his mind, looking for a way through his barriers, and Cas was loathe to admit the tiniest crack may have appeared. He did need help with the alimony payments. He could use a boost to his reputation. But it wasn’t that simple.

            Halfway down the hall, Charlie caught up with him. She flicked through images on her tablet as she spoke. “I know this looks bad,” she said as picture after picture of Dean graced the screen of her tablet. “But this is the best move we have right now.”

            Cas shook his head. “I have kids, Charlie.”

            “Then tell them the truth. Tell them it’s a career move so they don’t get hurt.” Charlie looked up at him, big brown eyes wide, pleading. “Sam will keep Dean out of the tabloids for a few weeks, get him to clean up his act, and then you two will make your debut together. You’re the voice of reason and you’re in control of the situation.”

            Cas bit his bottom lip.

            “And as for not being out...” Charlie sighed. “Maybe I was wrong, but I always thought that was less of a I’m-still-in-the-closet thing and more of a I-never-had-to-tell-anyone-so-I-kept-my-private-life-private thing.”

            She hesitated over an image on the screen – Dean riding a mechanical bull, half-dressed, looking like he was having the time of his life. Then, with a deliberate and sure swipe, she moved on to the next picture.

            Cas stared down at it and his blood ran cold. On the cover was a nice, normal picture of Dean, probably from a photo shoot, and then in a small circle off to the side, was a blurry picture of Dean kissing a guy. Dean was young in both photos – just in his mid-twenties, it seemed – framed by a headline that read: KANSAS PANIC LEAD SINGER CAUGHT IN STEAMY SAME-SEX AFFAIR.

            “This came out shortly before his band broke up,” Charlie said, “almost ten years ago. It ruined his career, his life. His girlfriend at the time broke up with him and he went underground.”

            Cas stared at the pictures for a moment longer. “I don’t see how you think this is helping your case.”

            She shrugged. “I just wanted to show you the truth. The drugs, the alcohol, the sleeping around... it’s an act. He was caught off guard and to get back to doing what he loved, he was forced to embrace a part of himself he hadn’t yet fully accepted. Eight years later. Can you imagine?”

            She shut down the tablet and dropped it into her messenger bag. Looking up at Cas, she added, “You met Dean Winchester in there. Rock star, playboy, disastrous mess. I’m just trying to show you that he’s not that person 24/7. Or he wasn’t always. And the guy you see in the tabloids isn’t the man you’ll be bringing into your kids’ lives.”

            “And what if he can’t do it?” Cas said. “He claims he can clean up with a snap of his fingers, but what if he doesn’t even realize he has a problem? What if he does need to go to rehab?”

            Charlie shrugged. “Then he goes to rehab. When he comes back, we put the plan in motion and say the reason he disappeared from the tabloids is because you two got together. The press knows you’re private. They’ll get it.”

            “And how do I come out?”

            “Do your kids know?”

            Cas nodded. “I told them when Claire came out.”

            “Then however you want, whenever you want.”

            “Except there’s a timeline on it.”

            She forced a lopsided smile. “Well, yeah. There’s that.”

            Cas closed his eyes for a moment as he hit the button to call the elevator. “Fine,” he said, “but I want clear ground rules. And I want your word that if I... if I do something stupid again, if I get too close to him, if it seems like I’m really falling for him, you’ll pull the plug.”

             “I’ve got your back.” She extended her fist.

            Cas, begrudgingly, bumped it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving to my fellow Canadians <3

Dean paced his hotel room, looking from the clock to Chuck and back again. “Why are we doing this again?” he said as he paused to look at the moose painting on the wall. It was half-cartoon, half-still-life, and all terrible. The wallpaper behind it was of moose running, jumping, and landing, over and over and over again all throughout the small room. For a suite, there was barely enough room for the queen bed and the couch Chuck currently sat on, not to mention the lack of pacing room.

            “And why are we in this stupid fucking hotel?” Dean snapped.

            Chuck sighed but didn’t look up from his phone. His fingers moved over the keyboard, no doubt dealing with another crisis at the same time he dealt with Dean. “Because,” he said, “Cas wants certain assurances before he walks into this thing.”

            “Assurances like me going to freakin’ rehab?”

            “You don’t have to go if the doctor doesn’t think you have a problem,” Chuck said, each syllable pronounced and slow, like he was speaking to a toddler.

            “Shouldn’t we be asking for assurances from him?”

            Chuck finally looked up, his expression bored and tired. “What kind of assurances? What do you think he’s going to do?”

            “What does he think I’m going to do?”

            “Fuck everything that moves? Snort cocaine? Get wasted and puke on the shoes of some poor TMZ employee?” Chuck shook his head and screwed up his face like everything he said was a ridiculous possibility.

            Dean let his hands curl into fists but bit down on the anger. As rough as Chuck was, he knew he was right. Cas had done nothing bad in his entire life, it seemed. For an actor who had been in the public spotlight since he was eighteen, he had an impeccable record. The only scandal to his name was his divorce and that was far from his fault. His wife, Kelly Kline, fashion mogul and sometimes actress, had cheated on him with a friend of the family and then manipulated the courts into giving her full custody of their children, claiming her life was much less hectic than his. Dean had read it all last night, too wound up to sleep in the cramped moose-themed space.

            “And then what?” Dean said. Chuck looked up at him blankly so Dean added, “After the doctor clears me or whatever, what happens?”

            “Well, considering it’s impossible to control you, we’re going to stay in this horrible hotel in Bumfuck Nowhere, Canada, until it’s been quiet long enough for you two to make your debut as a couple.”

            “And we can’t do that immediately because?”

            “Because no one will believe that Castiel Novak, a serial monogamist who is heavily against cheating, decided to tell the world he’s dating _you_ the moment it happened. And no one will believe he continued to date you after the seven different girls you fucked in the last five days all wound up on E! together last night.” The venom in Chuck’s voice would have stung had he not been completely focused on his phone, every word punctuated by a particularly fierce tap of his thumb.

            Dean stared at him for a long moment, relishing the sudden heavy silence in the room. The one good thing he could say about Bumfuck Nowhere, Canada was that it was peaceful. No car horns outside his windows, no screaming fans, no six a.m. wake up calls by over-excited hotel employees. The wind passed by the window, ruffling the white curtains, and outside all he could see were trees and mountains. Not a car or a skyscraper in sight.

            He sat down heavily on the end of the bed and reached for his phone before he remembered that Chuck had confiscated it when he dropped him off last night. Apparently even his Twitter was on lockdown until the plan was officially in motion. Chuck would keep up the tweets for appearances, his Dean impression down to a science by this point, and Dean would keep his mouth shut. Still, he itched to write just one post about Bumfuck. He wanted to take a stupid selfie next to the moose head in the lobby and caption it with some pun about antlers or hunting. He wanted to login to his official tumblr and post a rant on how he did not have to be assessed for addiction. But all of that was exactly why he wasn’t allowed to have his phone.

            It wasn’t long before there was a knock on the door but it felt like years had passed. Dean jumped up to answer it, ignoring Chuck’s protest, and gave a big smile to the man who stood on the other side. He looked exactly how Dean expected a psychiatrist to look – curly hair, thick glasses, a grey sweater vest over a white button down, and nice jeans. He inclined his head towards Dean and then stepped inside.

            Chuck immediately grasped his hand and shook hard. “Thank you so much for doing this up here. I know it’s not normal procedure. But before we go any further, I’d like to review the contracts you signed—”

            “That really weren’t necessary?” the psychiatrist finished. He blinked calmly in the face of Chuck’s barrage and extracted his hand with ease. “As I told you over the phone and in person yesterday, I follow a strict policy of confidentiality in my practice. Your client will be no exception to that. I kindly signed your non-disclosure documents anyways, despite the fact that without them you could have still sued me for the breach of doctor-patient confidentiality. I can assure you that Dean is in safe hands with me and that everything he tells me will be held in confidence.”

            Chuck blinked at him. Then, with a breathy exhale, he gestured towards Dean. “Dean, this is Dr. Carter. Dr. Carter, Dean.”

            Dean shook the man’s hand and suffered through the pleasantries and awkwardness of Chuck leaving the room. Then, Dean took a seat on the end of the bed while the psychiatrist made himself comfortable on the couch. He whipped out a notepad and a pen, crossed his legs, and looked up at Dean with a calm assuredness. The look unsettled Dean. He hated people who had complete confidence in themselves. More than that, he hated anyone who had the nerve to look him in the eyes like they were searching for what was broken in him. And most of all, he hated psychiatrists. His father hadn’t raised him to believe in them.

            “So, Dean,” Dr. Carter said as he drew a line down the side of the notepad. “Let’s begin.”

            “Let’s.”

            “I’m here to review your history with drugs and alcohol to determine whether or not you have an addiction.”

            “I don’t.”

            “Which is what most addicts say. When was the last time you had a drink?”

            Dean shrugged. “Last night.”

            “How many?”

            “Just one.”

            Dr. Carter made a note on his pad. “And harder drugs? When was the last time?”

            “I had a few lines of coke on my last day of tour. Five days ago.”

            “And how often do you use cocaine?”

            “On tour, almost every night. Otherwise... rarely.”

            “Define rarely.”

            “Once every couple months? Unless I’m recording and then... daily, again.”

            “Why?”

            “For the energy boost.”

            “Why not RedBull?”

            “Because the last time I drank RedBull, I ended up naked on the roof of a Hilton in the freezing cold and nearly had to get my dick amputated.”

            Dr. Carter let out a brief exhale, so quick Dean almost didn’t believe it was a laugh, but the corner of the doctor’s mouth twitched up, giving him away. He made another note in his pad. “And what’s the longest you’ve gone without having a drink in say... the last year?”

            Dean let the silence fall as he thought about the question. He focused on a jumping moose in the wallpaper, its legs spread as if it was spanning a cliff and not just a small section of off-white paint. “Not long,” he said. “Maybe a day? Two?”

            “What’s more accurate?”

            “A day.”

            Dr. Carter scribbled something in his pad. “What about other drugs? Other than cocaine and alcohol, what do you usually indulge in?”

            Dean shrugged. “Whatever’s around or trendy.”

            “Meaning?”

            “I take club drugs when I’m out. Often. But nothing harder than cocaine and nothing that’s been linked to overdoses.” Dean drummed his fingers on the mattress. “I do have a reputation to protect.”

            “How do you feel right now?”

            “What?”

            “It’s been, let’s say, twelve hours since your last drink?”

            Dean nodded.

            “How do you feel?”

            “Fine.”

            “I need you to be completely honest with me, Dean.” He tapped his pen against the pad, his friendly expression molding into something more serious. “Do you want a drink right now?”

            “It’s not even noon.”

            “You never drink before noon?”

            “Not usually. Not unless I have an early lunch with a beer or two.”

            “But you’re not craving a drink?”

            “I will be if you keep asking dumb fucking questions.”

            Dr. Carter bit his lower lip. “That irritability. Do you experience it a lot when you haven’t had a drink in a while?”

            Dean let out a heavy sigh. “No. I’m just a dick.”

            “Dean, from our conversation here, I can’t determine whether you’re an addict or not. You seem to have some semblance of control over your drug use, but I’m afraid you might be on a binge-purge cycle. You don’t seem to have any alcohol withdrawal symptoms but it may result from the fact that you don’t seem to show many outwards signs of anything.”

            “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            “Simply put, you don’t let people in. Not even people trying to help you.” Dr. Carter stood and hooked his pen into the V-neck of his sweater vest. “I’m going to need you to stay here for a few days, not drinking, so I can determine whether or not you have an addiction.”

            “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

            “I’m not. Don’t drink for the next few days. Do you think you can handle that?”

            “Yes, I can fucking handle that.”

            Dr. Carter nodded and went for the door.

            Dean sighed audibly and fell back on the bed. His stomach churned uneasily but he closed his eyes against the emotions welling up in him. Just because his dad had a drinking problem, just because Sammy had given up alcohol in college because his grades were slipping, that didn’t mean that Dean himself had a problem. He had a few drinks. So what? He liked to forget. That was all.


	4. Chapter 4

“You’re sure he was cleared?” Cas said as he tossed a stack of four neatly-folded t-shirts into his suitcase.

            “For the billionth time, yes.” Charlie sighed out the words as she flipped through scripts on Cas’ coffee table. She paused and then said, “What about the one with the astronaut and the—”

            “Alien?” Cas pulled two ties from the rack in his closet, just in case, and folded them neatly in the palm of his hand. “The alien dies on page four and that’s the role they offered. You don’t even see my face.”

            “Oh.” Charlie let the script slip closed. “It’s a good read, though.”

            “Incredible.” Cas pushed down on the jeans at the bottom of his bag, trying to make more room for socks.

            Charlie stood up and came to lean against him. “You know we’re heading out for a weekend and not a month, right?”

            “I just want to be prepared for any situation.”

            “The only situation you’re going to get into in Banff is sitting in a hotel room with Dean while the two of you, me, Chuck, and Sam hammer out the details of your relationship down to the second.” Charlie pulled the ties out of his bag and tossed them over her shoulder. “So unless you like to have sweaty hotel room conversations in a full suit, I don’t think you’ll need it.”

            Cas took his blazer out of her hands as she pulled on it and folded it neatly on top of his pillow. He let his fingers move over the cool silk of his sheets, let himself miss them for just a moment. “So what you’re saying is, t-shirts, jeans, socks, underwear.”

            “Maybe something sexy.”

            He shoved her.

            “Come on!” She flopped back down into the armchair and hung her legs over the side. “Dean’s easy on the eyes and not opposed to spreading his legs for a pretty smile.”

            Cas threw a pillow at her. “What did I tell you when I first begrudgingly agreed to this?”

            “Not to let you fall in love with him.” She caught the pillow easily and shoved it between her shoulders and the armrest. Leaning back, she let her red hair cascade over the edge of the chair. “But you said nothing about preventing you from sleeping with him. And, if we’re being honest, you need to get laid, Cas.”

            “Not this again.”

            “But—”

            “Charlie, is this part of your job?”

            “No.”

            “Then it’s what, again?”

            “None of my damn business.” She rolled her eyes.

            Cas zipped his suitcase closed and hiked it off his bed. Charlie sat up with a pep in her step and started to collect the scripts off the coffee table.

            “Leave those,” Cas said.

            “It’s a long drive,” she replied. “You read, I drive. Then you drive and I read.” She dumped the massive stack of paper into a black and white tote bag before swinging it over her shoulder. When she caught Cas’ incredulous expression, she waved towards the door. “Get moving. We can’t be late.”

 

By the time they arrived at the Moose Inn, Cas was in no mood to deal with any part of their whole situation. He was in even less of a mood to deal with Charlie shoving sunglasses and a beige trench coat at him. It had been years since his face had been recognizable but still she insisted on anonymity.

            They got through the check-in process with no complications, other than the front desk clerk insisting that he could upgrade them to a suite with one king bed instead of two queens, and headed upstairs to their room. The moment Cas flopped down on the bed, Charlie caught him by the hand and pulled him back up to a sitting position.

            “Come on,” she said, “we have to meet the guys for dinner.”

            “Where?”

            “In Dean’s suite.”

            “Why can’t he come here?” Cas pulled his weight back and flopped into the mattress easily, despite Charlie’s efforts to keep him upright. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the burning tension in his shoulders. “I’m the one who’s been driving half the day.”

            “Because we’re more agreeable and less diva-y than him.”

            Cas sighed. “That’s a dumb reason.” Nonetheless, he sat up and rubbed his eyes. Rolling his shoulders, he got to his feet, cracked open a complimentary water bottle, and opened the door to the hallway. He sipped water as he walked, Charlie on his heels, and headed for the elevators.

            They got to Dean’s room just as the room service cart was leaving and had to step awkwardly out of the way as Chuck handed the shaking kid a big wad of cash. Cas exchanged a glance with Charlie, who shrugged, and she led the way into the suite.

            “Suite” was a nice word for it. The space was little more than a queen-sized bed and a small sitting area, with a bathroom only slightly larger than the one in Cas’ own room. He sat down on the couch without commenting on it though, trying not to let his eyes stick on the moose wallpaper or the upholstery that at first glance seemed to be flowers but on closer inspection was just colourful and patterned moose.

            On the coffee table sat an enormous buffet of food – lobster tails, shrimp, three steaks, four different kinds of salad, a cheese platter, and a whole chocolate cake. The door shut with a loud click and Chuck walked back to the silent group. Cas looked up at him, wondering if he wanted to start the meeting, but he simply took a seat on the opposite couch, leaving plenty of room between him and Dean. Charlie, on the other hand, sat right beside Cas, her hand in the small space between them, just waiting for him to take it. And Sam sat in an armchair at the end of the table, thoroughly engrossed in his phone.

            Cas focused on Dean. Charlie had reassured him that the psychiatrist had cleared him but the man still looked strung out. He sat with his legs spread wide, leaning as far back into the stiff couch cushions as humanly possible, his head lolling slightly to one side despite the fact that his eyes were open. His fingers moved slowly across his phone, almost like he was playing some slow-mo game that required intense concentration. He didn’t seem drunk this time, although he hadn’t really last time either. Instead, he seemed tired and sluggish, like all his movements were being made through Jell-O.

            “Food’s getting cold,” Dean muttered after a moment.

            “Then dig in,” Sam said.

            Dean looked up at his brother, his expression lazy. “You said to wait.”

            Sam sighed and sat up straighter. He put his phone away and Chuck and Charlie followed suit. From his briefcase, Sam pulled out five blue folders and handed them out. Cas took the plastic file from Charlie and flipped to the first page, which was aptly titled: _The Destiel Project._

            Flipping to the next page, Cas found a full page of research on himself. His name, birthplace, birthdate, parents’ names, and a full page on his childhood. He flipped through until he found the same information on Dean, his eyes skimming over the story of Dean’s childhood – his mother’s untimely death, the military brat lifestyle, the band being formed – and then he flipped through faster, feeling like he was learning things he had no right to know. The back of the folder hit his thumb and he closed it.

            When he looked up, Dean was cautiously perusing the pages. But, from what Cas could see, Dean wasn’t reading Cas’ file. He was reading his own.

            “Please, eat,” Sam said.

            Cas set the folder aside and scooped some salad onto an empty plate. He picked up a steak too and dropped it onto his plate, even though he wasn’t sure how well cutting up a steak while balancing a plate on his knees was going to go. Charlie and Chuck followed his lead, picking up plates and piling them high with food. Sam eventually picked up his own plate but Dean simply continued to read.

            After a moment of silent chewing, Dean said, “What the fuck is this, Sam?” and Cas simultaneously wanted to be out of the room immediately and also couldn’t look away. Something broke in Dean’s tone, something soft and real, and Cas was reminded viscerally of what Charlie had said to him on that first day. Dean Winchester was just an act.

            “It’s our childhood,” Sam said, voice calm.

            “No. No, this has—” He cut himself off and glanced towards Cas who had a hard time looking away from those green eyes. Dean shook his head and looked back at Sam. “It says the same thing in his file? About Lisa? And... and Ben?”

            Sam let out a deep breath, bracing himself. “He needs to know everything if the tabloids are—”

            “The tabloids don’t fucking know that!”

            Sam pursed his lips. “Dean, we need to—”

            “We can leave,” Cas said quickly. He set his plate back down on the table and started to get to his feet. “This seems like it’s between family.”

            “No, Cas, this is part of the plan. You need to know—”

            “He doesn’t,” Dean snapped.

            Cas glanced between the two brothers and then slowly sat back down. “With our current timeline, Dean and I have been dating less than a month. If this... whatever it is, is such a well-kept secret that even the press doesn’t know about it, I don’t see why I would.” He picked up his file and offered it to Dean. “Rip out whatever pages you want.”

            Dean hesitated just a moment before taking the folder. He flipped through it quickly, tearing pages after just a few seconds skimming them, and then handed the folder back to Cas. As soon as it hit his hand, Cas knew it was significantly lighter but when he met Dean’s eyes, he didn’t care about the holes in their plan. Dean held onto the folder for just a moment too long and said, “Thank you.”

            Cas nodded and sat back.

            Sam sighed. “You two do need to get to know each other. Things like this don’t work if they’re rushed. Most of the time, these things happen with actors who have been on movie sets together. They already know each other. They already have chemistry. You two are virtual strangers. And you need to know each other well and have a rapport for anyone to believe you’re dating.”

            “We’ll get there,” Dean said.

            “It’s more than getting there.” Sam’s tone softened as he looked from Dean to Cas. “As far as the world knows, you two are complete opposites. A playboy and a serial monogamist. A drug-addled rock star versus a Catholic father of two.”

            “You’re Catholic?” Dean said.

            “Lapsed,” Cas said.

            “Dean, you’re known for having week-long relationships that burst apart in cheating scandals. Cas, you’re known for playing it close to your chest after what happened with Kelly.” Sam licked his lips. “The press has to believe you two are in love. They have to trust what you put out in the world. And more than that, they have to believe you trust each other. Even if they believe you’re a couple, you will be buried under scrutiny. There won’t be a magazine out there that’s not trying to prove Dean’s cheating on you, Cas. And there won’t be a damn article that doesn’t call you an idiot for falling for him after what happened with Kelly.”

            Cas nodded. “I understand.”

            “It’ll be an attack on you, personally, this time. They aren’t going to cut you the slack they did with Kelly if this goes sideways.”

            “I know.”

            “And as for coming out—”

            “You don’t have to,” Dean said.

            Cas turned his eyes to Dean but the other man was looking at his feet. “I’m pretty sure that when the world finds out we’re dating, they’ll know I’m not straight.”

            Dean chuckled, the bitter edge of a laugh just barely entering the room. “I mean, you don’t have to do any of this.” He looked up, his expression steady and unreadable. “We both know this is more for my benefit than yours. You’ll gain the popularity for it, but you’ll also be attacked for it. And I.... I remember what it was like to be outed in the tabloids. You can say it’s a different world all you want, but they won’t be nice about it. And I’m not going to sit here and let these assholes pressure you into coming out just because it’ll benefit my career. If you don’t want to do it, don’t do it.”

            Cas stared at Dean for a long moment, holding his gaze. “It may not be a different world, but it should be.” He swallowed hard. “Let them attack me. I don’t care. If I can be part of a change that means my daughter won’t grow up in a world where people hate her just because she has a girlfriend, then I want to be part of that. And, if we’re being honest, I haven’t been hiding anything. I haven’t been purposefully staying in the closet. I was married for fifteen years to a woman and people assumed I was straight and I just never corrected them. It seemed easier.”

            Dean stayed silent, staring.

            “This isn’t like what happened to you,” Cas said softly. “I’m making the decision to do this. Okay?”

            Dean nodded once, sharp, and looked away.

            “Alright then.” Sam got to his feet. “There are some questionnaires at the backs of your files. These are the things you two absolutely must know about each other before the plan goes into action. Some of them are real facts, some of them are fictional ones you’ll need to know. Iron it out and we’ll all talk about it tomorrow.”

            Chuck and Charlie rose out of their seats as well. Charlie gave Cas one last shoulder squeeze as she left and then the door slammed behind the three of them, leaving Cas alone with Dean. Dean didn’t look at him so Cas flipped to the back of his folder to find the questionnaire. “First question,” he said, “when’s your birthday?”


	5. Chapter 5

“January 24th,” Dean answered. He stared at the folder, flipping through the pages of his own life without recognizing what was before him. He only recognized it vaguely, the way a victim of trauma knows the basics of what happened but not the details. Not to mention, Sam had bullshitted the worst of it and gone with the press story instead of the truth.

            “Mine’s July 10th,” Cas said. He sounded far away. “How old are you?”

            “You don’t know how old I am?” Dean looked up, expression incredulous.

            Cas shrugged. “Sorry. My kids aren’t big on mainstream music.”

            “I’m thirty-four. You?”

            “Thirty-eight.”

            Dean nodded. Finally, he flipped to the back of the folder and skimmed the questions. “Favourite colour?” Trust Sam to pick the least likely question to come up in a casual interview. What did he expect? For them to have to play The Newlywed Game?

            “Blue.”

            “Green. Favourite food?”

            “Burgers.”

            “Same. Favourite project you’ve worked on?”

            Cas paused and Dean darted his eyes up to look at him, curious. Cas’ eyes had gone off to the side, wandering, like somewhere in his mind there was a list of every movie he had ever done with a rating next to it. Dean almost believed the guy would be that organized, that meticulous, even in the depths of his own mind.

             “I guess... _Five O’Clock Miracle_.”

             “Never heard of it.”

            Cas laughed. “It’s a stupid, made-for-TV, Christmas movie that I shot with Kelly shortly after we got married. She was pregnant with Claire the whole time and we were trying wildly to hide it so the producers wouldn’t recast her when they found out.” The smile lingered on Cas’ lips, the moment of trying to adjust costumes and set pieces without pissing off the crew bright in his memory. Then, the happy nostalgia slipped slowly away and he cleared his throat. “Although maybe that’s not the answer people will be expecting if you’re asked.”

            Dean shrugged. “Stick to the truth. It’s always easier to believe.”

            “What about you?” Cas said. “Your favourite album or song?”

            Dean hummed a low note, pursing his lips together as he thought. He reached up and scratched his neck. The lack of stubble beneath his fingertips made him feel like he was touching someone else’s smooth skin. When he glanced up, Cas’ eyes were on the hollow of his throat, the other man’s expression blank but hungry. Dean hid a smirk.

            “I think it’d have to be _Twice the Heartbreak_.”

            “I’ve heard that one,” Cas said. “It’s about people rejecting you once they find out you’re bi, isn’t it?”

            Dean nodded and looked down.

            “Why’s it your favourite?”

            “That’s not on the stupid survey.”

            “I just want to know.”

            Dean sighed. “I guess because it... meant something to people? People like my songs, sure, and I have fans, no doubt. But a lot of it is club music. And it’s fun to make but it doesn’t change anything. I felt like that song... I don’t know. People cared about it. People related to it.”

            Dean cleared his throat, hoping the heat on his cheeks was a false alarm. He could feel like he was blushing without actually doing it and he hoped against hope that this was one of those times. His whole image depended on people thinking he didn’t give a fuck. And he didn’t, for the most part.

            “What are the names of your kids?” Dean read.

            “Claire and Jack.”

            “Who’s older?”

            “Claire’s seventeen and Jack’s fifteen.”

            “And Claire’s gay?”

            Cas nodded. His eyes swept over the page. “How’d we meet?”

            Dean stared at him. “In Sammy’s office.”

            Cas chuckled. “No, like, what’s our story? How did we fake meet?”

            Dean closed his eyes against the impending notion that he was a colossal idiot. He chewed on his bottom lip. “I don’t know,” he said. “We... we bumped into each other getting coffee. Or walking our dogs. Or whatever normal people do.”

            Cas blinked. “Do you have a dog?”

            “I could get a dog.”

            And then Cas laughed for real, a full and open sound that seemed to fill the room. And Dean was completely thrown off guard. It had been so long since someone openly laughed at him and even longer since someone laughed at him while he was purposefully being an asshole. And Cas’ laugh was something else, a sound that felt like it didn’t get out as much as it should, and Dean once again had the terrible urge to coax it out of him. He’d felt the same way in Sam’s conference room – that little chuckle Cas let out was something he wanted to hear on repeat for the rest of his life. But to know that this other laugh existed, that was a game changer.

            And wow, Dean really needed to get his head on straight. He inhaled slowly and let it out in a controlled manner. Cas was hot, there was no doubt about it, so Dean would do what he always did when faced with an attractive person he felt like falling for: he’d fuck him and leave him so his heart would break too early to actually feel any pain.

            Dean filed that thought away as Cas said, “I think we need something more contrived. Sure, we could have just casually bumped into each other, but what are the chances? I don’t even live in L.A. year-round and you’ve been on tour all summer.”

            “Were you in any of the cities where I had concerts?”

            Cas started to look through the folder for a concert schedule. When he found it, he placed a pen between his teeth as he read through the names. Dean’s thoughts spiralled as he watched that pen press against Cas’ bottom lip. The things he would do to that bottom lip if given half a chance, if given even just an inch less of space between them.

            “I was in Toronto for an audition.”

            “Great. In Toronto, I was...” Dean trailed off, trying to remember Toronto among all the other cities he’d visited recently. After a while, they all blurred together. Chuck had taken to writing the city names on Dean’s hand before he went on stage so he wouldn’t fuck up and say “I love you New York” to the city of Dallas.

            “You had food poisoning,” Cas said.

            Dean blinked and looked up at him.

            Cas turned his phone screen towards him. On it was an article claiming that Dean’s concert in Toronto had been cancelled due to a particularly bad bout of food poisoning. When he scrolled down, that claim was met with a ton of skepticism and suspicions that he would rather spend the day in bed with eighteen hookers.

            Dean let out a low whistle. “Fuck them. I actually had fucking food poisoning.”

            “Good. Then we can take advantage of their skepticism.”

            A small smile curled onto Dean’s lips as he looked up at Cas. The angle was all wrong – Dean was sprawled across his own couch while Cas sat on the edge of his, back straight, looking like the goody-two-shoes Catholic school kid he probably was. Dean was probably going to hell for finding the thought of corrupting him so goddamn hot. “What are you thinking?” Dean asked.

            Cas put his phone down. “No one believes you actually got food poisoning, but they might believe you got distracted by a pretty face.”

            “Fuck you.” Dean couldn’t help but smile though as he pushed himself up to a sitting position. He shifted to the edge of his own couch but found the table prevented him from getting any real kind of contact with Cas. “But no one will believe you fucked me on a first date.”

            Cas’ lips twitched but didn’t fully make it to a smile. But the heat did reach his cheeks, just a hint of red, as he cleared his throat and said, “No. But they might believe I made you work for it enough that you missed your concert.”

            “Meaning?”

            “We met. We had dinner. We went for a long walk. We went dancing.”

            “How were there no pictures of this?”

            Cas paused with his mouth open and then slowly closed it. He licked his lips.

            “There are no pictures of me that day because I was sick in the hotel with food poisoning,” Dean said. “But if we make up some big story about how we wandered all around town, the paps are gonna call bullshit. Because they were probably waiting in the lobby. And on the street. And two blocks down.”

            “Right.” Cas stared down at the concert schedule like it might have an answer. “Right.”

            “So I did succeed in fucking you on the first date.”

            Cas flipped him off.

            “What hotel did you stay at? In Toronto?”

            “Best Western.”

            “Under a fake name?”

            “Yes.” Cas sighed. “As unnecessary as that was.”

            “So let’s say you stayed at the Four Seasons with me,” Dean said. “Not with me, with me, obviously. But I was getting ready to go to the concert. I got distracted by you in the hotel, upstairs, maybe in the elevator.”

            “In the elevator?”

            “I do my best work in elevators.” Dean ignored the way his heart skipped a beat when Cas snorted. “So we meet in the elevator and I change my plans. I can’t get into your pants, but I can prove I’m worth your time, and bring you back upstairs for food. We watch a movie. We fall asleep on the couch.”

            Cas stared at him for a moment, his blue eyes sparkling. “The great Dean Winchester is willing to say he fell asleep cuddling on a couch?”

            Dean did his best not to give anything away. Not to lick his lips or blush or flicker his eyelids too fast. He needed to open a window in here – it was too hot and the heat was making him think about taking off Cas’ clothes.

            He got to his feet and headed for the window, saying, “It’s sweet, don’t you think? I’m after one thing, you stop me, we have a nice evening anyways.” He pushed the window open and took a deep breath of the mountain air. “Straight out of a fucking rom-com.”

            “And why did I let you skip your concert for me?”

            “You’ve said it yourself several times since we got here.” Dean turned back to Cas with a smile, the cool breeze tickling the back of his neck. “You didn’t know who the fuck I was.”

            Cas laughed again as he shook his head. “You got me there.”

            “What’s next?” Dean took a slow step back towards the couches, watching Cas as his head bent towards the folder. He stepped around the table and sat down cautiously next to Cas. Not too close, not yet, but with less than a foot of space between them. He leaned closer to take a look at the page.

            “Our first kiss.” Cas looked up and seemed momentarily shocked that Dean’s face was so close. But he blinked it away, like it was so normal to him. “When was it?”

            “That night,” Dean said.

            Cas’ lips twitched. “I don’t kiss on the first date.”

            “God, you’re such a girl.” Dean smiled around the words, hoping to take the bite out of them. “I have to take a hit and say I failed to fuck you on the first night, but you can’t fudge the truth a little and say I got a little tongue action?”

            Cas shrugged. “You heard Sam. I’m as straight-laced as they come.”

            “Not that straight.”

            And there was the real smile, teeth and all, with a small exhale of a laugh. It was so close Dean could kiss it off in one smooth motion. He felt his heart pick up speed but he had no idea how serious Cas was. If Dean made a move, would he get shut down immediately? And if so, would it fuck up them finishing the questionnaire? Dean really didn’t want to piss Sam off more than necessary.

            He licked his lips and prompted, “Our first kiss.”

            “In the morning,” Cas said.

            Dean raised an eyebrow.

            “We fell asleep on the couch, right? So let’s say when we woke up in the morning, you kissed me goodbye before my audition.” His eye sparkled as he looked at Dean and then dipped down with a sigh. “Maybe the casting director will believe that’s why I was so flustered that morning.”

            “Why were you flustered?”

             “Is that necessary?”

            Dean shrugged. “That’s up to you.” He tried to sound nonchalant but really he was dying to know anything about Cas’ personal life, his real life. For example, who was the last person Cas had kissed? The way he and the people around him talked, it sounded like he hadn’t so much as gone on a blind date since Kelly left him. But Dean couldn’t possibly believe a guy so hot had been celibate for three whole years.

            “When did we make it official?”

            Dean bit back his sinking heart. “Do people even do that anymore?” he asked. “Like, how many people do you know who actually sit down and have a conversation about what they’re doing and where they’re going? I think that’s a movie cliché.”

            Cas stared at him for a moment and then said, “Okay... so I forced you into the conversation.” He picked up his phone again and started to flick through articles. Dean saw he had bookmarked dozens of articles about Dean. Finally, Cas settled on one and tilted the phone screen towards Dean. “Would you say this was your last public hookup?”

            Dean glanced at the girl in the photo – a blonde with pink highlights – and shrugged. “Maybe.”

            “Well, I’ll confirm with Sam, but let’s say if we met in Toronto and this was your last public hookup, we had the ‘what-are-we-doing-here’ conversation a few days after these photos dropped.” Cas wrote down the date in the folder. “We met in...” He scanned the tour dates. “Chicago to talk and I told you point-blank that you were either all-in or all-out.”

            “And I said fuck off.”

            Cas glared at him. “We’re supposed to be happy.”

            “Who would believe my reaction was any different?”

            Cas pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. With a deep sigh, he said, “Guess not.” He dropped the folder onto the table. “Doesn’t Sam have people to do this logistics crap?”

            “Definitely.” Dean shifted closer and knocked his knee against Cas’. “But then we wouldn’t have this time to _bond_.”

            Cas rolled his eyes.

            Dean knocked their knees together again, testing the waters, but got no reaction from Cas, negative or otherwise. “Let’s say we broke up,” he said. “Let’s say you wanted to get serious, I said fuck off, and you left. And a couple days later, in... Michigan, when I missed that concert, it was because I flew all the way—”

            “I live in Michigan.”

            “I skipped out on the concert to beg you to take me back.”

            “There are no pictures of you in Michigan?”

            “Nobody fucking cares about Michigan.”

            Cas chuckled, low and tired.

            Dean shifted just a little closer and brushed their arms together. Experimentally, he reached forward and shut the folder. Then he tapped Cas on the knee once, twice, and let his hand rest there so lightly he could move it off in a nanosecond. “Let’s take a break,” he said, forcing his voice to soften, to drop in volume.

            Cas looked at him then, his blue eyes soft and violent all at once, a very guarded expression suddenly overtaking his features. But he said, “Okay.”

            “Okay.” Dean let his hand settle fully and dragged it slightly up Cas’ thigh.

            Their eyes were locked together, Dean attuned to Cas’ every movement, every breath. For a while, it felt like time wasn’t even passing. The curtains fluttered in the breeze. The hotel creaked around them. At one point, a child screamed in an adjacent room, but neither of them so much as flinched. Dean let his hand drag further up Cas’ thigh, fingers fluttering against the inseam of his jeans.

            “Stop,” Cas said suddenly. He placed his hand on Dean’s wrist – barely a brush of skin.

            Dean froze. He waited for the clock to start again but it didn’t feel like it did. He stared now at the side of Cas’ face, trying to read his unreadable expression, trying to hear his thoughts.

            “Why?” he said.

            Cas’ Adam’s apple bobbed. “This is a business arrangement.”

            “I’ve always liked mixing business and pleasure.”

            “I don’t have a very good track record with it.”

            “Well, I think it’s safe to say that I’m not gonna marry you.”

            Cas moved suddenly, standing and walking over to the window. Maybe he was finally feeling the heat in the room too, the suffocating space and the electricity crackling between them. Dean didn’t move, just shifted his eyes to follow Cas as he started to pace.

            “What’s the next question?” Cas asked.

            Dean glanced down at the folder and flipped it open. “Why did I go back to music after what happened?”

            “Well?”

            Dean shrugged. He had no idea why Sam expected Cas to know that when Dean didn’t even know it himself. He was notorious in interviews for giving wildly different answers every time that question came up, for going from the publicist-approved “I thought the world needed my voice” bullshit to “I just got bored” in the space of a few hours.

            “Dean.”

            “Why are you Catholic?” Dean asked, moving on to the next question. He met Cas’ eyes momentarily, their defiant fire, and half-expected to be challenged on the change in subject.

            “My father was almost a priest,” Cas said. “I went to Catholic school my whole life.”

            “And you’re lapsed because...?”

            “I got a girl pregnant out of wedlock.” There was that smile again, that cheeky grin, that bullshit spark that got Dean’s engine revving. “And no one wanted me there anymore.”

            “Are your kids Catholic?”

            Cas shook his head. “Claire could care less about any religion and Jack’s hellbent on finding the ‘best’ religion to focus his attention on, the one that will bring him closer to God.” He almost laughed again but this time there was a bitter edge to it. “The funny thing is they’re both in Catholic school. I told them they could go to a normal public school if they wanted and they just kind of looked at me funny, like they _enjoy_ fucking with the nuns.”

             “I think I’ll like your kids.”

            Cas’ expression darkened. “You’re not meeting them.”

            Silence fell in the room. Or about as much silence as can fall in a hotel with paper-thin walls, screaming children, and an open window. Dean tapped a finger against the questionnaire – there was only one question left – and then said, “Let me get some sleep?”

            Cas’ eyes flickered his way. He inclined his head slightly and then headed out, the door banging shut behind him.

            Dean stared blankly at the rapidly cooling feast in front of him. His phone buzzed.

            **Chuck:** _doesn’t look like you fucked him_

            **Chuck:** _what a feat of self-control that must have been_

            It was times like these that Dean really appreciated the middle finger emoji.


	6. Chapter 6

The weekend in the hotel went by quickly. Despite the skipped questions on the questionnaire and Sam’s constant tweaking, Cas and Dean were never forced into a room alone again. Cas sat across from him at big tables of food, avoiding his eyes when they all lounged around the lobby, and stuck by Charlie’s side the rest of the time. She was his anchor, his shield from the world, the one thing that would keep him sane through all of this.

            Cas knew it was wrong to blame Dean. Dean wasn’t the one who had come up with this plan or dragged him into it. They were virtual strangers. And he couldn’t be mad at Dean for hitting on him, he’d felt it too – that sparking chemistry, the unbearable heat in the room, the sense that if he could make Dean smile even once the world would right itself and peace would fall over the Earth – but Cas had felt that all before. And he knew it was a lie.

            On Monday morning, armed with a package filled with all the fake details of his relationship and real details of Dean’s life, Cas stood beside Charlie in the check-out line. He shifted from foot to foot. His eyes kept darting to the elevators.

            “We’re not leaving together,” Charlie said.

            Cas bit his bottom lip and swallowed the mean-spirited reply that came to mind.

            She nudged him lightly. “You’re doing great. I know this is hard for you but I just need you to know that you’re doing really well. This is going to work.”

            “We still don’t know how we’re introducing it to the world,” Cas replied, consciously deciding to focus on what about the plan made him nervous instead of what about _Dean_ made him nervous. “Are we going to stage some casual moment for the paparazzi to catch wind of? Are we going to go to some big event together, hand in hand? Are we going to introduce ourselves to the world on an interview like we’re freaking royalty?”

            “Calm down.” She squeezed his hand. “It’ll all work out.”

            That was what Cas was afraid of. That it would all work out. That somewhere along the line he’d look over at Dean and he wouldn’t be able to tell where the lie stopped and the truth began. Even though he’d avoided him most of the weekend, he had felt Dean’s eyes on him. Sometimes he’d caught his gaze and Dean had quirked a smile and Cas had felt his heart skip a beat. And worst of all, whenever he laughed, Dean pushed the joke forward trying to make him laugh, trying to make him happy.

            “He’s a player,” Charlie said.

            Cas looked over at her and raised one eyebrow.

            She didn’t look back at him. “You told me to pull you if it got too real. Here’s the thing, it’s going to get real for you.” Her green eyes met his calmly, seriously. “There are two reasons for that. The first is you. You’re incapable of pretending to be romantic with anyone without actually feeling it. It’s the main problem casting directors have with you. You’re amazing when you have chemistry with the other lead and shitty when you don’t.”

            She held up a hand to stop him when he tried to interrupt. “And two, Dean’s a player. He looks at you, he makes a plan, and he can tell _exactly_ what it is you want, need, desire. That guy from this weekend that you’re already half in love with?” She put her hand right over Cas’ mouth to stop his words. “He doesn’t exist. He’s someone Dean made up to get in your pants. And, yeah, he’ll stick around for a while, but when Dean gets tired of the chase, he’ll disappear and you’ll see you were in love with a ghost.”

            Slowly, she removed her hand.

            Cas couldn’t think of a thing to say to that. He let his breath come out in a heavy sigh. “Thank you.”

            Charlie gave him a thin smile and then stepped up to the check-out counter.

 

Waiting was the hardest part. It was also the easiest. Cas couldn’t really explain it. He felt like something was crawling under his skin, scratching to get out, but at the same time he felt that the clock moving forward was a sign of dread, that in the next week or month his life might end unexpectedly. His fingers itched to call Dean for no reason at all.

            He kept himself busy reading scripts he wouldn’t get the lead in and calling his kids whenever he had the chance. Claire got so annoyed with him that she actually had the audacity to say, “Seriously, dad. Go get laid and leave me alone.” And Cas had been so tempted to tell her that he could get laid with a single text but he bit back the retort, said he loved her, and hung up.

            He memorized their back story. He had Charlie quiz him on it. He called Sam to make small tweaks, smooth out inconsistencies, and make up excuses for Dean’s numerous exploits. No matter how long Dean stayed out of the press, Cas knew he wasn’t staying celibate. And no doubt some asshole would come forward with a story of how they slept with Dean Winchester while he was supposedly in a monogamous relationship with Castiel Novak and the whole thing would implode if Cas couldn’t find a good excuse.

            The funny thing was, he was more worried about himself than Dean. He was the actor out of the two but all Dean did, day in and day out, was convince people he cared about them. He twisted the truth so that girls and guys would fall at his feet, begging to blow him. Cas knew without a doubt that Dean could laugh at an interviewer, flip off TMZ, and pretend to be in love without breaking a sweat. Cas, on the other hand, knew Charlie was right about him. He was always a better actor when there was a kernel of truth to what was on screen. And he couldn’t afford for that kernel of truth to exist.

            Time passed. Sam consulted everyone he trusted and a plan was formed. And then Cas was suddenly on an airplane to L.A., crawling out of his skin, trying to remember how to breathe. It didn’t help that Charlie was stuck in New York dealing with another client or that Sam’s main advice was “just be yourself.”

            When the plane landed, Cas nearly vomited. He faked air sickness with convincing reality, smiling at the flight attendants and then getting off the plane with his carry-on. His heart pounded in his throat. His stomach felt like it was in his feet. Every movement jostled his organs; he felt like he was made out of jigsaw pieces and some benevolent toddler god was quickly rearranging him into a shape that made less sense.

            Cas stepped onto the down escalator and steeled himself. This was it. His grand entrance. Looking down at the small collection of people waiting for their loved ones, it took Cas a moment to find Dean. Not because the crowd was thick or he was hiding, but because he looked like a completely different person. There was no hint of hangover to him now, no bad boy devil-may-care attitude. Even the leather jacket had been dropped in favour of an old army green one. He wore cowboy boots under a faded pair of jeans and one of his own concert tees. Cas almost laughed.

            He stepped off the escalator and caught Dean’s eye. Dean smiled. In three long strides, he’d enveloped Cas in a hug so tight Cas wasn’t sure if he had forgotten how to breathe or if his lungs just couldn’t inflate in this position. Slowly, his breath came back to him, and he smelled the Old Spice soap Dean used along with some fruity aftershave.

            Dean took a step back, still smiling, and said, “How was the flight?”

            “I slept through it,” Cas lied. Really, he’d restlessly forced his eyes closed while progressively turning up the music to drown out his anxiety.

            Dean snorted in disbelief as he reached to take the suitcase out of Cas’ hand. “Did you check any bags?”

            “Sam said not to.”

            “You listen to Sam.” Dean said the words like one might say “You listen to the Devil” or “Because _Santa_ told you to?” But he kept walking in smooth strides, slowing his pace just ever so slightly so that Cas could keep pace. He smiled over at him, green eyes wide and shining, looking at him like he was the only thing in the world. “You’re such a goody-two-shoes.”

            Cas’ brain went blank at the teasing lilt in Dean’s voice, that sound that just dared him to kiss the smile off his face. He forced himself to incline his head but couldn’t get passed that small movement. Dean’s free hand curled into his. Cas closed his eyes. He was pretty sure he was going to die before they made it out of the airport.

            But of course, dying wasn’t an option. So he opened his eyes and took a quick look around. “I don’t see any cameras,” he whispered.

            “The paparazzi doesn’t really care if you come to L.A.,” Dean muttered. Then he gave his hand a quick squeeze. “No offence.”

            “None taken. But shouldn’t Sam have... tipped them off or something?”

            “You would think you were fifty from the way you talk.” Dean motioned off to the side and Cas followed the indication to a group of giggling girls with their phones out. Dean waved at them and they burst into more laughter, blushing and trying to hide behind a pillar. “For every camera you see, there are two more.”

            Cas nodded, the uneasy feeling in his stomach coming back. How fast would the news spread? How long would it take for BuzzFeed to be running stories on their forbidden romance and for the Inquirer to be saying they weren’t dating, in fact they were secretly planning a cult out in the L.A. wilderness? Cas could feel time buzzing forward around him, shooting him into the future.

            Then Dean’s fingers squeezed his. “Take a breath. You’re happy to see your boyfriend, remember?”

            Cas couldn’t help but smile as he looked up at him. “Happier than ever.”


	7. Chapter 7

In hindsight, agreeing to have Cas stay in his house had been a mistake. Between the guy waking up at six a.m. every day and the weird health food he ate, Dean felt like he’d been committed to rehab against his will. If he so much as looked at a beer before three, Cas got this disappointed frown on his face like the whole world would crash and burn if Dean got a little bit of a buzz before an arbitrary time on the clock.

            This particular morning, although morning was a rather loose term for 11:49 a.m., Dean woke to Cas on the phone. He tried to shut his eyes against the noise but to no avail. He could only hear snatches of the conversation, like Cas was finally trying to keep his voice down after four days of waking Dean up to such nonsense.

            “Twitter hasn’t even... picked up by the big outlets... tired of waiting...”

            Dean groaned and rolled off his bed. He hit the floor with a heavy thump and immediately regretted it. His room’s shag carpet was even softer than his silk sheets and he was half-tempted to just close his eyes again and sleep right there, no matter what damage it would do to his back.

            But he had more important, or at least less lazy, things to do.

            He pulled himself to his feet using his bed and threw on a black t-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts. After running his hands through his hair, he slipped a pair of flip-flops on and poked his head out the door just in time to hear Cas say, “The timeline is _bullshit_ and you know it.”

            “Cas.”

            The other man’s eyes shot his way and a blush rose on his cheeks. Dean’s lips twitched but he swallowed down the smile, tried to replace it with annoyance. “Let’s get some coffee.”

            Cas hung up the phone. “We have coffee here.”

            Dean rolled his eyes. “It’s like living with Sam all over again,” he muttered as he headed for the stairs. Cas’ footsteps echoed behind him and Dean took comfort in the fact that, at the very least, Cas was more likely to listen to him than argue with him.

            Dean plucked a pair of sunglasses and his keys off the front table, then opened the front door.

            “We’re not supposed to—”

            “Sammy’s timeline is bullshit.” Dean stepped out into the blinding sunlight, half-regretting his clothing choices. Early September was still warm but not quite warm enough for shorts – but still too warm for pants. He felt the chill work through his body as he stepped onto the front porch and motioned for Cas to follow him.

            As he locked the door, Cas shifted from foot to foot. “Should we be—”

            “Sam told us to go out,” Dean said. “Fan the flames. Play into the rumours. Sitting at home all day while you tell me not to get takeout for the fourth meal in a row and grumble over scripts for shitty alien erotica isn’t doing either of those things.”

            “They’re not for shitty alien erotica.”

            Dean snorted as he headed down the steps. “That one with the astronaut that starts with a full-blown sex scene before the alien dies? It’s like... gore erotica. Dark shit, man. Dark shit.”

            Cas grumbled something non-committal as he stepped into place beside Dean. Dean played with the idea of taking his hand but it was a relatively quiet morning, what with his neighbours either fast asleep or already at work, and the paparazzi relatively sure he didn’t exist until the afternoon. They fell into an amicable silence, the kind that usually followed or preceded some dumb argument about whether or not ketchup on toast was a meal. (Dean was firmly pro-ketchup-on-toast but Cas kept going on about how public figures of their age had an image to protect. Please. If Danny Devito still got chicks, Dean could get chicks with a bit of a beer belly.)

            They walked to the Starbucks at the end of the street. The bell rung over the door as they stepped in – barely. Dean kept his foot wedged in the doorframe as he hovered at the end of the line. Nearly a dozen people stood in front of them, all looking at their phones, not one of them paying attention to the song crackling over the speakers. One of Dean’s songs. It was his favourite, too, and Dean felt an odd swell of pride to have it playing in a chain coffee shop.

            “You used to be in a boy band?”

            Cas leaned back against the door, nearly toppling Dean off balance. But he caught himself in time, leaning hard against Cas to steady himself, and shot the man an odd look. “Yes,” he said. “I thought we’d covered that.”

            “We did but...” Cas was staring at him in an odd way, the way music fans who never watched the videos or saw him in concert tried to place him in person. Dean waited patiently until Cas let out a small laugh. “I think Claire had a poster of you on her wall at one point.”

            Dean cocked an eyebrow. “I thought she was gay?”

            “It’s not her fault they always photographed Jo in the background.”

            Dean laughed. “Right. Jo.” He shook his head and tried to ignore the heavy sadness that settled against his chest.

            He must not have done a great job of it though because Cas nudged him with an elbow and said, “Are you alright?”

            Dean shook his head. “I just... haven’t heard from Jo in a while. She went a bit child-star on us and then disappeared off the map.” He licked his lips as the line moved forward and forced a shrug. “Her mom tells me she’s doing fine now, though. Rehab, twelve steps, the whole shebang. And she’s got some fancy job in a lawyer’s office so...” He swallowed hard. “It all worked out.”

            Cas said nothing for a long time. The line dwindled to almost half its previous occupancy before he said, “What happened to you, you know, after?”

            “After what?”

            “After the band broke up.” When Dean said nothing, Cas continued, “I know you were outed and you went underground but then there’s just... eight years of nothing. You disappeared. And then reappeared as a party boy without a care in the world. That wasn’t your image at twenty-four.”

            Dean shrugged. “It was better for the label.”

            “The label asked you to be a hot mess?”

            Dean almost smiled. He felt the corner of his mouth twitch even as his heart sunk further into his stomach. “Look, Cas, you’re a nice guy and everything but... that’s Lisa territory.”

            Cas nodded and their silence returned. That charged air of almost-but-not-quite-fighting. Dean reached out and tangled his fingers with Cas’ – maybe for the crowd but also because he felt grounded when he touched the other man, like the world no longer spun without him. They stepped up to the counter together and Dean ordered for them both. He heard a camera click and then another.

            When he turned his head to look out the window, sure enough, the paparazzi had found him. He gave a slight wave to Kevin – the kid half-crushed in the back of the group – and then turned to whisper in Cas’ ear, “Smile for the cameras.” Before he could reply, Dean kissed his cheek and ushered him towards the receiving line.


	8. Chapter 8

“Time to step up our game,” Sam said, his voice crackling over the speakers of Dean’s phone.

            Cas and Dean sat a foot apart on Dean’s blue couch, both staring down at the iPhone on the glass coffee table. Well, Cas was staring. When he looked over at Dean, Dean’s eyes were half-closed and he looked ready to drop into bed at any moment. Hilarious considering it was barely dinnertime and the guy had woken up at noon.

            “The press is really running with the rumours. I emailed you guys some articles. Did you see them?”

            “Yes,” Cas said. He flicked through them on his phone as Sam spoke. Most of them were from barely credible sources – gossip blogs and pseudo-news sites that wanted to be the first to have a big story – but they all got the point across. _Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak in a secret relationship?_ The shots from the coffee shop were good, even through the glass. The glare only slightly blurred Cas’ face, causing the rumours to run even wilder. He lingered on an image of Dean kissing his cheek. The brush of his lips had been so innocent, so fleeting, but Cas had felt a shock go through his whole body.

            “I need you guys to go to a bar tonight.”

            “What bar?” Dean said, almost immediately perking up.

            “I’m thinking either _Dynamite_ or _Chaos_. You don’t have to be there long if you don’t want to be, but once you are, I’ll tip off the paparazzi.” Sam cleared his throat and continued in a more cautious tone. “I’m not telling you what to do or asking you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with, but ham it up a bit. You’re clearly close in the coffee shop photos but we want to blast away any doubt before you’ve got a microphone in your face. The more they believe you, the less questions they’ll ask.”

            “We’ll go to _Chaos_ ,” Dean said. He shot a sideways glance at Cas. “I’m still not allowed back to _Dynamite_.”

            The line was silent for a long moment and then Sam said, “Dean, what did you do at—”

            Dean hit the end call button. Then he stretched, his t-shirt slipping up to reveal a smooth stomach, and popped his shoulder. While rolling his neck, he got to his feet and said, “Get changed and we can grab dinner there.”

            “You should really eat something other than—”

            “Crappy restaurant food and candy,” Dean finished. His tone was in itself a sigh but the look he shot Cas was full of light, just on the edge of teasing. “You know we’re not actually dating, right?”

            Cas flipped him off with a smile. Then he did his very best not to watch Dean disappear up the stairs. He failed. But as soon as Dean turned the corner, Cas let out a heavy exhale and got to his feet. He had no idea what to wear to a club, let alone if he’d brought anything worthy of a club. What was worthy of a club these days anyways?

            Suddenly, Cas was very aware that despite the fact that their age difference was minimal, he and Dean came from very different worlds. Dean was a club kid, even in his mid-thirties, and Cas had been a stay-at-home dad since he was twenty. He brushed his hand down his chin, wondering if he should shave or if the stubble-look was in. His heart beat a little faster, panic setting in.

            “Get up here,” Dean called.

            When Cas was halfway up the stairs, Dean started to throw clothes at him. Cas caught them – luckily – and just managed not to stumble back down. He pulled a blue t-shirt off his face and said, “Are you donating this to Goodwill?”

            Dean laughed. “When it’d make good money on EBay?”

            Shaking his head, Cas made it to the landing and turned left towards Dean’s room. The master bedroom was a massive space taking up nearly half the top floor and lined with floor-to-ceiling windows. The ensuite was featured through a large archway, showing its marble tile and spit-splattered fixtures. The windows continued right through into the bathroom – a dangerous choice for the second floor of a celebrity house but Cas knew when to pick his battles with Dean.

            He leaned against the doorframe and watched as Dean stared blankly into his closet. “Why were you throwing clothes at me?” he asked after a moment.

            Dean stepped into the closet, his hand going for a shirt, hesitating, and then going for another one. “Because,” he said as he slipped off his t-shirt. Cas focused all his attention on the doorjamb. “You clearly have nothing nice to wear so I thought I’d help you out.”

            “Fuck you,” Cas said without any real fire. He glanced back at Dean who was halfway through buttoning up an army green shirt. “You should roll the sleeves on that.”

            Dean’s lips quirked upwards. “You’re giving me fashion advice now?” But he rolled up the sleeves all the same. “Put that shirt on. And some darker jeans, maybe. You got shoes?”

            “Dress shoes?”

             “Something in between sneakers and dress shoes.”

            “What’s in between sneakers and dress shoes?”

            “Loafers?”

            “You want me to wear loafers?”

            Dean stared at him for a long moment and then shook his head. “No, I don’t. Sandals. Do you have sandals?”

            “No.”

            “What size are you?”

            “Ten.”

            “Then mine will fit.” Dean tossed a pair of leather flip-flops at him.

            Cas barely caught them. He turned out of the room and headed to his own, which was about half the size. He’d be bitter if the bedroom wasn’t the size of the entire first floor of his house. He put on the blue shirt – it was a bit long and slightly tighter than he was used to, but otherwise fit fine – and switched his ratty stay-at-home jeans for the dark wash ones he usually wore to interviews. And then he slipped on Dean’s sandals which were a little big but not too bad.

            He headed back downstairs and met Dean at the front door. “How are we getting there?”

            “I called an Uber.” Dean’s phone buzzed. “And it’s here.”

            Cas nodded and followed Dean out the door. He felt the chill of the night air almost immediately but his nerves kept his stomach warm. Butterflies would be an understatement. He felt like full-on tank warfare was taking place in his stomach, like he was about to step off a cliff and no one was going to stop him.

            Just before they reached the car, Dean reached back and took his hand. It was embarrassing how used to the sensation Cas had gotten after just a few days. Having Dean’s hand wrapped around his was like having an anchor to reality, a physical reminder that he was safe and taken care of. But that feeling came with its own anxieties, namely the ones that questioned whether Cas was capable of faking a relationship without developing real feelings. He’d fallen for Kelly in a matter of minutes and every time Dean smiled at him, he could feel himself getting that much closer to the cliff’s edge.

            Dean pulled him into the backseat of the car and then leaned forward to talk to the driver. It was clear the two of them knew each other – Dean probably had a collection of drivers that he knew and trusted. Then he flopped back into the seat with a sigh and tapped his fingers against the seat.

            “Tired?” Cas asked. He’d been wondering all day. Dean didn’t seem to do anything but he was always yawning, resting his eyes, or zoned out.

            “Yeah.”

            Cas wondered if this was a line of questioning that would get him shut out. “Why?”

            Dean slid his gaze to Cas and managed a thin smile. “I’ve been on tour for the last three months. So my sleep schedule is fucked, my body is used to running on cocaine and whiskey, and you keep waking me up with the blender every morning.”

            “I’m not going to apologize for waking up at a decent hour.”

            “Wake up at a decent hour without a fucking blender.”

            Cas smiled. “It’s a good alarm clock.”

            To his relief, Dean laughed.

            The Uber rolled through the wealthy L.A. neighbourhood with ease before getting caught up in the traffic headed downtown. The sun had started to set, sending a warm glow of red and orange across the cloudless sky. Lights from downtown sparked to life in the distance. Neon signs pointed towards clubs and diners while office buildings lit up the night with white light.

            The car pulled up in front of _Chaos_ after a few minutes of a clicking turn signal and cars honking from behind. Several times, Cas tried to say they could be let out a few blocks down and Dean shushed him. The club had an old-timey movie theatre facade, with the triangular entrance and big signs saying the club’s name, opening times, and drink specials. People lined up at a ticket booth manned by a man dressed in a red suit jacket and a small black hat. Cas took in all of this as Dean tipped the driver and asked him to stay free tonight.

            Someone screamed the moment he emerged from the vehicle and Cas looked around in fright. Dean’s hand pressed into the small of his back, his voice suddenly right in Cas’ ear. “Breathe,” he whispered but Cas had no idea how he thought that was possible when his lips were so close.

            Dean guided him forward, smiling at his fans and offering one, almost friendly wave in response to all the screams. He stepped up to the front of the line and leaned against the counter. “You got a private room in this place?”

            The man in the red suit jacket stared blankly at Dean. His mouth hung halfway open.

            “Right,” Dean said. He slid two twenties over the counter, winked, and walked in, still pushing Cas forward.

            Cas blinked hard as they pushed into the club. Between the bright lights outside and the iPhone cameras flashing, the club looked pitch black in comparison. Cas opened his eyes wide, trying to let the light in, as Dean continued to guide him forward as if he knew the layout of the club by heart. And maybe he did.

            As Cas’ eyes adjusted, he took in the candlelit booths with burgundy lining. The floors were smooth, reflective black tile and the walls were black with neon graffiti. A few people danced on the floor but most were tucked into booths, sitting close together as they sipped drinks and whispered secrets.

            “What is this place?” Cas asked.

            “It’s kind of a speakeasy.” He tapped his fist against the bar top, ordered two gin and tonics, and turned to Cas. He leaned back against a stool but didn’t sit. He also didn’t drop his hand and instead let it linger on Cas’ hip.

            “I thought we were eating.”

            “We’ll get to that.”

            Cas wanted to argue but he wasn’t sure if that would help or hurt his situation. On one hand, pissing Dean off would make him less likely to hit on him. On the other, fighting with him always made Cas feel like they knew each other way better than they did. So he shut his mouth and stared at the rows of bottles lining the back of the bar.

            When the drinks arrived, Dean shoved them both Cas’ way. “You need to loosen up.”

            Cas stared at the drinks. “I have a high alcohol tolerance.”

            “Two more,” Dean said to the bartender.

            Cas almost smiled but instead he started to sip his drink. Dean slipped away to speak to the bartender at the other end of the counter and came back with four shots and two beers. Cas raised an eyebrow at him.

            Dean split the shots between them.

            “You’re going to get sick drinking like that.”

            Dean rolled his eyes. “You say that like it’s not half the fun.”

            “Oh, so that’s your secret.”

            He raised an eyebrow.

            “You eat like shit and then vomit it all back up when you drink.”

            “First of all, fuck you.” Dean took a shot and held up two fingers. “And second of all, you’ve got a mouth on you.” He drank a second shot as well.

            “You’re surprised?”

            “After the goody-two-shoes my brother made you out to be?” Dean shook his head. “I wasn’t even sure you’d have balls.”

            “I have balls,” Cas grumbled. He twirled a shot on the bar top and caught Dean’s eye. The challenge in those green eyes was clear as if he had said it out loud. Cas licked his lips and downed the shot. It burned all the way down. “Fuck. Tequila? Really? Are you a sorority girl from the eighties?”

            Dean laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re a riot, Cas.”

            He had an urge to flip him off but, instead, took the second shot. He screwed his eyes up as he swallowed it and then opened them wide to see Dean smiling. He was laughing too, the sound lost in the pounding bass of the club music. So Cas leaned in close, watched Dean’s eyes follow his lips, and said, “Now food.”

            Dean rolled his eyes. “You’re no fun.” But he turned back to the bartender anyways and started listing dishes like he had the menu memorized. When he finished, he ordered four more shots and slipped off the stool he was perched on.

            Cas followed him back to the booths, carrying both his drinks while Dean carried the beers. At the table, Dean popped the cap off one and took a swig. Cas grimaced. “Tequila, then beer? That’s your order?”

            “I’ll go back to tequila.”

            Cas slipped into the seat across from him and bumped his knees against the bottom of the table. He swallowed down a curse. The alcohol numbed the pain, just barely, as Cas rubbed his leg. He accidentally kicked Dean under the table but, before he could apologize, Dean trapped his foot under his own and held it there. Cas raised an eyebrow at him but Dean was back to drinking.

            “How long are we staying?”

            Dean shrugged. “Dunno. We’ll drink. Eat. Dance.” He pulled his foot back. “See how it goes.”

            “When is Sam tipping off the paps?”

            “Eleven or so?”

            Cas checked the time on his phone. It was only eight-forty now. He let out a low sigh.

            “Is it really that bad spending time with me?”

            Cas met Dean’s teasing gaze. “The exact opposite.”

            And something in Dean’s expression went sour. Or maybe not sour, but certainly uncomfortable. He looked away with a cough and Cas thought maybe there was a blush on his cheeks. Or maybe that was just the warm glow from the candles reflecting off the vinyl seating.

            “Beer go down wrong?” Cas asked, keeping his voice casual.

            Dean shook his head. “I can handle my liquor.”

            “The tabloids beg to differ.”

            “Is that your way of challenging me to a drinking contest?”

            It was, most definitely, not Cas’ way of challenging Dean to a drinking contest. But he couldn’t really see a way out of it where Dean didn’t call him a coward and goad him into it anyways, so he said, “Of course.”

            When the food arrived, Dean ordered ten more shots. The waiter gave him an incredulous look and Dean said, “Look at all this food. We’ll be fine.” and shot him an encouraging smile. Cas tried to mimic his expression.

            Fine might have been optimistic. While Cas was relatively sure he wasn’t going to vomit by the time they’d finished all the food, he was also extremely sure that he wouldn’t be able to keep his feet under him if he tried to walk, let alone dance. He laughed at everything Dean said, even when he couldn’t quite hear him. At some point, between the burgers and the pasta and the salad Cas had insisted they ordered, Dean had ended up on the same side of the booth as him. Cas vaguely remembered some excuse about cameras being everywhere. _Everywhere_.

            Now, four hours and twenty shots later, Cas was half-pressed into the corner of the booth with Dean’s arm wrapped around him and their thighs rubbing together. He felt warm and tingly all over and whenever Dean spoke or shifted, he felt like giggling. And yet, despite all of that, he was seventy percent sure they were in the middle of a heated argument.

            “No. No!” Dean exclaimed, his breath tickling over Cas’ face. “You’re completely and utterly wrong.”

            “I am _not_ wrong,” Cas said. “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single woman in possession of a wife must be in want of a good fortune.”

            Dean laughed. “That’s not the quote!”

            “Then what’s the quote?”

            “What do I look like? A twelfth grade English teacher?”

            “If you did, I would have gotten better marks in English.”

            “Worse,” Dean corrected.

            Cas smiled and shrugged. “Who knows.”

            Dean jostled him and some part of Cas’ rational brain shook loose and looked down on him from above. Here he was, drunk and sweaty and flirting with Dean in the booth of some sleazy club. He blinked, swallowed hard, and looked down at the phone on his lap. He checked the time. “Shit,” he said.

            “Shit what?”

            “It’s almost midnight.”

            Dean stared at him blankly.

            “The paparazzi?”

            He laughed. “You’re worried about being late for the fucking paps?”

            Cas couldn’t help but smile. It was impossible not to smile when faced with a close-up Dean, pearly whites on display, eyes sparkling, smelling like he’d drank a whole distillery. “Fuck you,” he said. “We should go.”

            Dean groaned but slid out of the booth. He latched onto Cas again almost immediately, swinging his arm around his waist and pulling him close. Cas assumed it was at least half for balance. In fact, without Dean’s weight countering his, Cas was sure he would have face-planted three steps in. They weaved through the booths and towards the door and were almost outside before Cas mumbled, “A single woman in want of a wife must be in possession of a good fortune.”

            Dean opened his mouth to argue again just as the cold night air blasted into their faces.

            “Wait!” Cas exclaimed. It was like the night air had cleared his memory and he could see the pages of _Pride & Prejudice _before his very eyes. “A single woman in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife!”

            Dean laughed. “I don’t think it was that gay, dude.”

            “That’s disappointing.”

            Shaking his head, Dean turned right and started their walk down the sidewalk. He fiddled on his phone for a bit – probably calling the Uber driver back – and then shoved it deep into his pocket. He tilted his head back and took a deep breath. Cas’ eyes followed the curve of his neck and the subtle bob of his Adam’s apple.

            He slipped his hand into Dean’s back pocket as their steps slowed and the music of the club faded away. Cas’ ears started to ring as the wind blew past them, causing them both to shiver. “Camera crew, ten o’clock,” Dean whispered.

            Not that he needed to give the warning. If nothing else, the flashbulbs would have given them away the moment the first shutter clicked. Cas fought the urge to hide his face or turn away. The whole purpose was for them to see him, to see that he was dating the ever-popular Dean Winchester.

            “What?” Dean said. “You’re the one who wanted to come out here for them.”

            Cas shook his head but said nothing.

            “Come on.” He knocked his hip into Cas’. “You should wave.”

            “I’m not gonna wave.”

            “Wave!” Dean bumped into him again and reached for his hand. Cas stepped back quick, careful to stay on the sidewalk, and tried to fight Dean off. But Dean was bigger and quicker, so he got the upper hand easily. He grabbed Cas by the wrist and turned him around, shoving him up against the window of a small bookstore.

            His smile was too close and his breath was warm. “You don’t want to give them just a little wave?” he cajoled. “Don’t want to give them just a little show?”

            Despite himself, Cas’ eyes flickered down to Dean’s lips. “We could give them a show.”

            Dean’s expression faltered, became serious. “Do you want to give them a show?” he whispered.

            Cas nodded.

            And Dean leaned in. One of his hands cupped Cas’ jaw, tilting it upwards ever so slightly. Their lips met, soft and slow at first, and then Dean slipped his tongue into the kiss. Cas responded by pushing forward and Dean pushed him back, pinning him fully against the window. The hand on his chin moved up, threading through his hair, and Cas did his best to swallow back the whine in his throat.

            He gripped Dean’s hips, holding himself steady. Dean’s other hand slid down his chest as his tongue twisted into Cas’ mouth. Cas let him do what he wanted. He barely had enough brain cells left to think, let alone control a kiss. But Dean kissed with such control, such technique, that Cas wondered if he’d be better at it sober. And if he was, did people survive kissing Dean sober? Was that an experience a person walked away from?

            Cas snuck one hand up under Dean’s shirt, his fingers wandering over the smooth plane of his stomach. A growl rumbled in Dean’s throat and Cas felt his knees give but the pressure of Dean’s body against his kept him upright. The hand on his stomach kept slipping lower, skipping over the waistband of his jeans, until it settled over his crotch.

            Gasping into the kiss, Cas managed, “Dean.”

            “Cas.” Dean moved his lips to Cas’ neck, biting and sucking and generally making Cas’ last few brain cells die off.

            Cas held onto the back of Dean’s neck and bit his own lip so hard he drew blood. He tried to move his hips to thrust into Dean’s hand, but Dean’s iron grip left little room for movement. Cas whimpered and felt Dean’s hardened length press against his thigh.

            “Dean, please,” he whispered.

            “Please what?” His eyes met Cas’, full of questions.

            The camera flashes flared in Cas’ peripheral vision, bringing him slowly back to reality. He swallowed hard and placed his hand over Dean’s. He shifted it away from his crotch, but the moment he let go, Dean smiled and let his hand slip back down his chest. Cas grabbed it again and held it tight against his thundering heart.

            “We should go before we give them too much of a show.”

            Dean’s smile was all charm and sparkle. Suddenly, Cas saw him the way girls in the back of tour buses probably did. He exuded confidence and sex appeal and dripping honey that begged you to lick it all up. That, mixed with alcohol, made self-control seem like a myth made up to create a basis for slut-shaming.

            “But we’re dating,” Dean whispered. He said the words with such tenderness that Cas almost believed him. “Why would we stop?” He leaned in and kissed Cas’ neck again, lips slow and tender, the movement easy to stop.

            And yet, Cas let it happen for a minute more before he pressed his hand to Dean’s cheek and forced him to look at him. “Because we have a bed at home,” Cas replied. He kissed Dean once, quick, and then again, because he couldn’t help himself. “Because boyfriends don’t fuck like dirty one-night stands on public streets.”

            A whine left Dean’s throat and that alone was almost enough to make Cas reconsider the decision. But then Dean pulled Cas’ hand to his lips, kissed his knuckles, and pulled him away from the storefront. And Cas felt the oxygen return to his lungs.


	9. Chapter 9

The Uber rolled slowly towards the front drive of Dean’s house. He looked out the window at the scrambling paparazzi, their cameras at the ready. He could imagine them holding their breath, fingers hovering over buttons, ready to get the shot at the exact right moment that would make it better than everyone else’s shot.

            Dean turned his head towards Cas who was leaning against the other window. “Have you sobered up?”

            Cas glanced his way, blue eyes glassy. “Not even a bit.”

            “Good.” Dean sighed. “It’ll make this easier.”

            The car rolled to a stop. Dean undid his seatbelt, then reached over and released Cas’ as well. So close to him, Dean could smell the alcohol rolling off of him and he almost felt bad for kissing him. He licked his lips.

            “Make what easier?” Cas asked belatedly.

            “This.” Dean leaned in and kissed him hard. As he did, he shifted backwards, dragging Cas with him as one of his hands scrambled for the door handle. He pushed it open and pulled Cas out the door with him, their lips connected, hands tangled in each other’s clothes, as they stumbled backwards into the sudden cacophony of camera flashes.

            Dean fought the odd urge to tell Cas to breathe and instead held one hand steady against his side as he stumbled backwards up his walkway. He knew the path well enough to do it drunk, backwards, and with Cas leaning most of his weight on him. That didn’t mean he didn’t hit his heels on each step and the breath didn’t go out of him when Cas nearly collapsed on him at the door.

            Dean disentangled their lips as he reached for his keys. “Fuck, where...”

            “Here,” Cas whispered, his warm breath brushing against Dean’s ear, “let me help.” His hands moved downwards into the pockets of Dean’s jeans, searching, massaging, moving.

            Dean felt his eyes flickering closed. “Babe, that’s not a key.”

            “No?”

            Dean could feel Cas’ smile against his neck and couldn’t help but smile back. Cas’ hand dipped further into his pocket and pulled out the keys. He moved closer, pressing their bodies flush, and turned the lock. The door opened and they tumbled over the threshold. Dean slammed the door and then turned to Cas.

            The other man was breathless, flushed, and stumbling.

            Dean grabbed him by the shirt collar and coaxed him backwards. He pressed another kiss to his lips, gentle and lazy, as he held him against the wall. Through the window, cameras flashed and the gentle din of shouting photographers reached them. Dean closed his eyes tight and tried to ignore them, tried to focus on kissing Cas, but it was easier said than done.

            Dean’s kisses slowed and he rested his forehead against Cas’ to take a breath. His eyes closed. Suddenly, he felt exhausted and exposed. That creeping sensation of being watched flooded through his body like spiders crawling across his skin. He wanted to enjoy this. Cas was a good kisser and his hands were something else and Dean had a sneaky sensation that with his shirt off, Cas was downright lickable. But he’d always hated kissing as if it was a show for someone else. He’d always hated intimacy being picked apart by the tabloids like it meant nothing to him, like he chose who to fuck by rolling a die.

            “Dean.”

            Dean opened his eyes to meet Cas’ lazy gaze.

            “Why are we still so close?”

            “The window.”

            “We could move away from the window.”

             “Do you want to?”

            The slight hesitation made Dean’s heart race. Cas shook his head and leaned in. “Maybe in a bit.” Then he kissed him and Dean felt weak in ways he couldn’t explain as he tilted his weight forward, resting against the wall and Cas’ body as their tongues touched.

 

Dean kneeled by the side of the bed and held the coffee cup as close to Cas’ face as he dared. He was trying to hold back a smile but it was so hard when Cas hung half off the bed, mouth open around the edge of a pillow, hair sticking up at every angle. Not to mention the covers were only half on, exposing his naked back and the gleaming dip of his spine.

            “Wakey-wakey,” Dean said, voice barely above a whisper.

            Cas groaned. “Five more minutes.”

            Dean couldn’t fight the smile any longer. He reached up and tangled his fingers through Cas’ hair, stroking his scalp gently. “It’s two o’clock in the afternoon, sleepy.”

            Cas startled, moving suddenly.

            “Whoa, slow down—”

            Dean barely managed to shift out of the way before Cas leaned over the side of the bed and puked. At least he had good aim half asleep and hungover, which was more than Dean could say for himself. He hit the trash can Dean had set up with impressive accuracy, only just grazing the side of the bucket and barely getting any vomit on the carpet.

            As he slumped back into the pillows, groaning, Dean stroked his back. “You’re doing great,” he said. “You’ll be fine.”

            “It’s two?”

            “Yeah.” Dean tugged on Cas’ ear, earning himself a half-hearted swat that he easily dodged. He set the cup of coffee on the side table but didn’t move from his squat, no matter how much his thighs burned. “Guess I won the drinking game.”

            Cas shook his head and mumbled something into the depths of his pillow.

            “True, you kept up admirably,” Dean said, “but I’m pretty sure the fact that you’re hungover and still in bed while I’m up and cheery means I won.”

            “Fuck you.”

            Dean swallowed his smile and got to his feet. He tousled Cas’ hair. “Look, I wouldn’t have woken you if Sam hadn’t called seven times. And even then, I wouldn’t have woken you if your agent hadn’t started blowing up my phone like a teenage girl with a bad crush.”

            Cas groaned and slowly rolled over onto his back. He pried one eye open to look up at Dean, who did his best not to look too cheerful. Really, his heart warmed at the sight of a sleepy and grumpy Cas. He told himself he was just being petty – after all, who didn’t like to get the better of the guy who woke you up at six a.m. every day with the fucking blender; Dean had thought running the blender might be too petty – but he couldn’t deny the way his heart jumped when Cas reached out to him.

            For the coffee. Dean handed the mug to him.

            Cas propped himself up on his elbows and sipped. He wrinkled his nose. “You drink it black?”

            “You’re not actually going to scold me for reducing my sugar intake, are you?”

            Cas shot him a look that might have been intended as a glare but it was hard for him to narrow his eyes while they were drooping so violently. He took another gulp of the coffee as he propped himself up against the headboard and looked around the room. His eyes opened a little wider and he looked down at himself, half-covered in sheets.

            Dean sat down on the edge of the bed and watched him.

            Cas began, “Did we...”

            “No.” Dean laughed. “I was just afraid you wouldn’t make it the three steps to your bedroom without me.”

            Cas narrowed his eyes. “As I remember it, I was holding _you_ up.”

            “You wish.” Dean reached for Cas’ phone and tossed it in his lap. “You might want to do something about your agent. She’s ninety-nine percent sure I murdered you and stuffed your body to keep in a closet.”

            “And you thought the alien erotica was dark,” Cas mumbled as he picked up his phone. Before Dean even had time to laugh, Cas cursed. “Fuck. She saw the pictures.” He glanced at Dean who stared back at him and added, “It’ll be easier to deal with Charlie alone.”

            Raising his hands in mock surrender, Dean got to his feet. “Remember where the bucket is,” he said and turned away before Cas could flip him off. He walked out of his bedroom, went downstairs and flopped onto his powder blue sofa. Turning on the TV, he switched to the celebrity gossip channel and was greeted by a big picture of his own face.

            He raised the volume.

            _“These photos leave very little to the imagination,”_ a reporter said as pictures from last night flicked across the screen. _“Rumours that Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak are dating seem to be rumours no more. Not after last night when, just after leaving a club in downtown Los Angeles, the pair were spotted in a heated make-out session.”_

Dean studied the photos as the reporter rambled on. A few were blurry, but there were more clear shots than he was used to and more close-ups. How long had they stood there in that embrace, putting on a show? His skin crawled and he reached to scratch his shoulder, even though he knew it was a phantom sensation. He could see everything from the degree of the kiss, to his hands all over Cas, to Cas’ hands all over him. He didn’t even remember Cas grabbing his ass but there was the evidence, clear as day.

            Eventually, the photos switched over to footage of them leaving the Uber at Dean’s house. That was almost worse, to watch it replayed, to see the way their lips barely met, the way their hands scrambled against clothing. But the reporter focused on Dean’s one still hand, the one he had kept on Cas to steady him. The reporter seemed to think it was a sign of a deeper connection, a massive tell-all about how much Dean cared.

            “Shut that off,” Cas grumbled.

            Dean hit mute as he looked over the back of the couch. Cas, bleary-eyed and unshaven, sipped his coffee while staring at the TV. “How’s Charlie?”

            “Angry,” Cas said and didn’t elaborate. “You said Sam called?”

            Dean nodded but Cas’ eyes were still fixed on the TV. Dean turned it off. “Are you all right?”

            Cas sighed and slumped onto the opposite end of the couch. Rubbing his eyes, he said, “Charlie just gave me an earful about how unnecessary that was and a lecture on how sex isn’t the only way to sell a story.”

            “Did you tell her we didn’t have sex?”

            Cas let out a weak chuckle, more of an exhale, and the edge of his mouth cracked into a smile. “She didn’t believe me.” He paused, then added, “If she wasn’t so angry, I think she’d be proud of me.”

            Dean held back his laugh but not his smile as he pulled out his phone. He hit Sam’s name in his contacts and put it on speaker before tossing it onto the coffee table. Cas winced at the clatter and Dean was half-tempted to turn down the volume. But he didn’t because, after all, Cas was the blender king and he could suffer just a little.

            “Dean. Finally.”

            “Yeah,” he said, “Cas just got up.”

            Cas lifted his middle finger as he sipped his coffee.

            “This is blowing up,” Sam said, all business, “and we need to take advantage of it while the story’s hot. Chuck and Charlie keep calling me to field interview offers and requests for the exclusive story of how it all happened. We need to get you on TV, now.”

            “When?”

            “Not you,” Sam said, “Cas.”

            Cas looked up blearily and, in a rough and grumbly voice that thoroughly distracted Dean from the issue at hand, managed, “What?”

            “I’m not putting Dean in an interview this early in the game. He’s liable to fuck it up as soon as he opens his mouth, plus, he’s not the one whose popularity we’re worried about. It’s yours.

            “So, Dean, we’re going to give you an event to go to, something high-profile and worry-free, like a meet-and-greet or charity benefit. And Cas, you’re going to go on Jimmy Fallon tomorrow night to field the questions.”

            “What questions?” Cas asked.

            “The usual. Where’d you meet, how’d it happen, are you really dating? All you have to do is stick to the story and confirm what they already know.” Sam cleared his throat. “I’m working with them to develop the questions, so there should be no surprises. But you know these guys love to adlib. You’ve got to stay sharp.”

            Cas sipped his coffee and said nothing.

            Dean glanced from him to the phone. “And what am I supposed to do?”

            “Meet some fans and smile politely if anyone brings up the pictures.”

            Dean grumbled something unkind and then leaned back into the couch cushions. He stretched his arm along the back of the couch and tapped Cas on the shoulder.

            “Fine,” Cas said.

            “This is also you officially coming out, Cas,” Sam said. “I’m not going to be able to weed out questions about that. Are you ready?”

            “I’m not hiding it, Sam.”

            “All right. Well, I’ll contact you soon and give Charlie all the details so she can book your flights. Have a good day.” The line went dead.

            Dean stared at the phone for a moment more before turning his attention to Cas. Cas swallowed down the dregs of his coffee, then leaned forward to turn the TV back on. The volume blared with the voice of a repoter.

            _“Already, outrage has sparked across social media, with both fans of Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak expressing distrust and distaste for their relationship. Fans of Dean claim Cas is all wrong for him while Cas’ fans insist that Dean must have taken advantage in order to get Cas in such a position. As we all know, after his very public divorce from fashion mogul Kelly Kline, Cas has all but disappeared from the public eye...”_

            “This isn’t going to be easy, is it?” Cas said.

            Dean managed a smile. “The best things never are.”


	10. Chapter 10

Cas woke just as the flight landed, his eyes fluttering open as the seatbelt light dinged off. He scrambled to get his stuff and get off, not wanting to wait for everyone else but also not wanting to slow everyone down. This was the main reason he hated flying first class – he had to get off the plane as soon as it docked or else he was an asshole.

            Tired and wary, Cas made his way into the airport and followed the signs to baggage claim. As he walked towards the baggage carousel, Charlie fell into step beside him and linked her arm through his. “Welcome to New York,” she said.

            “Thanks.”

            “You know, we still have to talk about—”

            “It was a kiss,” Cas said. He lowered his voice just in case anyone was listening but apparently one tabloid scandal didn’t elevate him to cameras-waiting-in-the-airport levels of fame. “For the cameras. Nothing else.”

            “You were drunk off your ass,” Charlie said as they stopped beside the right baggage carousel. “And it was more than _a_ kiss. It was like, a thousand.”

            “It meant nothing.”

            “Don’t lie to me.”

            Cas met her eyes and the fire behind her gaze. He immediately softened. Charlie wasn’t just his agent, wasn’t just someone he had to deal with for his career. She was a friend and she was worried.

            “It felt... otherworldly,” Cas admitted, “but I’m not going to fall in love with the guy just because he’s a good kisser. I’m human, yes, and he’s attractive and I enjoyed kissing him, but... he’s still Dean Winchester. I can’t trust him. And I can’t fall in love with someone I don’t trust.”

            Charlie scrutinized him for a long moment and then nodded. “Good.”

            They retrieved Cas’ lone bag and headed out into the parking lot. Climbing into Charlie’s rental car, Cas turned on the radio and switched it to the first rock station he found. Charlie gave him a curious glance but said nothing as she backed out of the parking stall.

            At the hotel, they checked in and headed for Cas’ room. He washed his face and changed into his interview clothes – a white button-down and the same pair of dark jeans from the bar – while Charlie read off the interview questions. She added her own commentary and advice to each one while also skimming through the notes Sam had sent ahead.

            Cas got the gist of it. Stick to the story and confirm the relationship. Everything else was window dressing. Even his coming out would take a backseat to the pictures of him and Dean outside the club. There was one question about it – something about Kelly, then Dean, and his switching teams – and even though Charlie insisted it was insulting and limiting, Cas didn’t want to make a stink about changing the wording.

            He popped the top two buttons on his shirt and sprayed a bit of cologne on his neck. He stared himself down in the mirror. His hands shook against the edge of the sink. The last time he’d done this, confirmed a fake relationship on TV, Kelly had been right there by his side. Sam was right that Cas didn’t have the talent for sticking his foot in his mouth that Dean did, but Sam grossly overestimated how much of his composure was self-made. Kelly had held his hand last time. Kelly had smiled when he faltered. Kelly had been brought up under scrutiny and answered hard questions like she’d been asked about the weather. Everything Cas knew about taking on hard interviews, he’d learned from her.

            “Sam’s right,” Charlie said from the other room.

            Cas glanced towards the open bathroom door, staring into the seemingly empty expanse of the hotel room. He could see only the edge of the bed and a swatch of gold wallpaper. “About what?” he said.

            “That you two took it too far outside the club,” Charlie replied. “There aren’t any questions about it, but don’t be surprised if Jimmy blindsides you. You two practically fucked on a public street. It looks like a nightclub hookup, not a committed relationship.”

            Cas swallowed hard and stepped into the room. He met Charlie’s questioning gaze. “We were drunk,” he said, “and it was stupid and reckless but Dean makes me feel like that’s okay sometimes, like recklessness is just a way to have some fun and not the end of the world.” He forced a laugh. “What? Did you expect me to tame Dean Winchester in just a couple of weeks? Aren’t you more surprised that we _didn’t_ fuck on the street?”

            Charlie smiled. “You can’t say fuck on TV.”

            “Bang, screw, fornicate. I’ll figure it out.”

            She nodded and went back to the notes. Cas settled on the end of the bed, tried to focus on what she was saying, and all too soon it was time to get going. He felt his hands sweating but Charlie intertwined their fingers in the back of the town car all the same. The drive was smooth and slow, lulling Cas closer to sleep.

            They got off at the studio and headed through security. The guard took an embarrassingly long time confirming Cas’ identity before sending them through to a small dressing room, complete with some pink lilies and a basket of fruit. Cas touched a lily with the tips of his fingers.

            “Focus.” Charlie grabbed the vase and tossed the flowers in the trash. She grabbed him by the shoulders. “This is about Dean, not Kelly.”

            “But Kelly will come up.”

            “Inevitably. But don’t talk about her. This isn’t about her.”

            Cas nodded. The hair and makeup people joined them, brandishing brushes and straightening irons. Cas sat through the whole process as he listened to the opening music lead Jimmy in. Taking a deep breath, he followed a shaking PA backstage and tapped his foot against the blue linoleum. The PA turned to him with steady eyes and held up three fingers, then two, then one.

            Cas stepped out onto the stage, one hand raised in a wave, smile plastered on. The crowd exploded. The noise was almost enough to drag Cas back into the shadows but he forced himself to keep moving forward, to take Jimmy’s hand and shake it. Jimmy said something but it was lost in the din, so Cas simply smiled back before taking his seat and waiting for the noise to die off.

            “Okay, okay!” Jimmy shouted. “Okay!” He raised his hands and then lowered them back down to his desk. “We are here with Castiel Novak, star of _Lifeline_ and _True Bones_ , to talk about some rumours that started swirling earlier this week.”

            The crowd called out again, a cacophony of questions and noise, and Jimmy raised one hand to silence them. He chuckled as the noise died down and he turned to Cas. “That was quite a welcome, wasn’t it?”

            “Yeah, haven’t had one of those in a while,” Cas said.

            Jimmy laughed and licked his lips. “Well, we all know why you’re here and the audience seems to be more than excited to get into it, so why don’t we?” He shifted a paper across his desk, his eyes darting down to the questions, and then asked, “So, tell us about those photos that surfaced yesterday. What exactly happened there?”

            Cas shot him a look. “I don’t think I’m here to give you a biology lesson.”

            The crowd roared with laughter.

            “Of course, of course. I just meant, you and Dean Winchester. Wow. That’s quite a surprise.”

            “I don’t think anyone’s more surprised than me,” Cas said, leaning back into the chair. “I get that people don’t understand it. I don’t think I would have understood it myself, at first, if I’d known.”

            “If you’d known what?”

            “Who Dean was.”

            The crowd laughed along with Jimmy. “What does that mean?”

            “Well, when we met, I had no idea who he was.” Cas kept talking through the laughter. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Dean’s a brilliant artist, but it’s not the kind of music I listen to. I think I finally clued in when I remembered my daughter used to have a poster of him on her wall.” Cas chuckled. “Dean was not happy that my first impression of him was based on _Kansas Panic_.”

            Jimmy chuckled. “But you know who he is now?”

            Cas flicked his eyes towards the pictures on the big screen. “Obviously.”

            “Tell me how that happens. You’re a divorced father of two and Dean is... well, Dean Winchester. Party boy extraordinaire. There’s been some speculation that those photos are from a one-night stand.”

            “Do I seem like the one-night stand type?” Cas crossed his legs, resting a foot on his knee. “Dean and I have been dating for almost a month now.”

            “And that’s how you act in public?”

            Cas smiled through the laughter and hoped his cheeks weren’t going red. Or maybe it’d be better if they did, if he had even an ounce of shame about what they did. But looking up at the photos, he couldn’t muster the embarrassment. Intertwined like that, they looked like they fit. “Even I can’t tame Dean in just a few weeks. And nor would I want to. His passion for life is what attracted me to him in the first place; the way he goes after what he wants but never pushes too far, that’s one of my favourite things about him. And, yeah, we were really drunk that night. And we’re relatively young men so things happen.”

            “But the alcohol still caused problems later, I bet.” Jimmy laughed so Cas joined him, feeling the heat on his cheeks. Jimmy gestured for the audience to calm down and tapped his cue cards against the table. “I think the biggest surprise to anyone about this is that, well, before Dean, you were married to Kelly Kline.”

            Cas nodded.

            “Care to elaborate on why you switched teams?”

            “Umm...” For a moment, Cas couldn’t decide if he should laugh or stay calm. He settled somewhere in between – smiling slightly but still letting his discomfort show in his hesitation – and said, “I didn’t switch teams. And I don’t think it’s rocket science to figure out that I’m bisexual, especially when Dean is so open about it himself.”

            “But you’ve never said anything about it before. Why?”

            Cas shrugged. “I think... when I first got on the scene, we didn’t live in a time where saying something like that would have gone well. And then I was married to Kelly for so long... I guess it didn’t seem important.”

            Before Jimmy could step in, Cas caught himself and added, “Not that representation isn’t important but just that... it’s hard for bisexual celebrities to maintain their identity in the public eye in a meaningful way. Dean does it by shouting it from the rooftops. You’d have to search hard to find an interview or a song of his that doesn’t somehow reference it. But if you’re not a shout-it-from-the-rooftops kind of person, and I’m not, and especially when you’re married to someone of the opposite gender, it’s incredibly easy for the media to erase your identity. So I guess, as lame as it sounds, I just didn’t want to fight for the label. I was happily married. I wasn’t part of a movement and didn’t intend to be. So I just never found an opportunity to say it.”

            “Is it odd to have to come out because of pictures like this?”

            “I think it would be, for some people, but I wasn’t hiding it. People close to me know. It’s just the world at large that assumed I was straight.”

            A handful of cheers went up in the crowd and Cas shot a grateful smile towards the noise. While most of the audience shifted in their seats, at least someone liked what he had said.

            “But Dean Winchester, of all people.” Jimmy shook his head. “After everything that happened with Kelly, between the scandal and the divorce proceedings, why choose him?”

            Cas managed to quirk a smile even as his heart nearly stuttered to a stop in his chest. He shifted in his seat. “You say that like they’re remotely the same person. And I get what you’re trying to say – I was cheated on. Why date a notorious playboy who can’t keep it in his pants for ten seconds?”

            He took a deep inhale, trying to settle the uneasiness in his stomach. The words wouldn’t come to him. Most of his lies were scripted, not adlibbed. “Kelly... broke my heart. I don’t think anyone has any doubt about that. And I won’t lie to you and say I didn’t have reservations about Dean once I found out who he was, once I read the articles, but... but Dean isn’t his tabloid persona. And by then, I felt like I already knew him. I knew him apart from what the press said about him. And it didn’t seem fair not to give the guy a chance just because of things that other people were saying about him.”

            “But it’s got to make you worried that the same thing might happen again.”

            Cas bit his bottom lip. “I don’t date people I can’t trust, Jimmy. If I didn’t trust him, you wouldn’t have those pictures of us.”

            Jimmy stared at him for a long moment and, to Cas, it felt like the silence stretched out for minutes. He felt the eyes of the audience on him, felt like he could feel the millions of viewers watching at home too. Even the crew seemed to be judging him, weighing his words, wondering if he was trustworthy.

            “Where is Dean tonight?” Jimmy asked.

            “He’s at a meet-and-greet,” Cas said. “At a children’s hospital, I think.”

            Jimmy nodded. “Well, that’s all the time we have for tonight. After the break, we have Olivia Wilde!” The crowd roared into cheers and Cas watched as the cameraman counted them out.

            Jimmy reached for his hand again and shook it. “Thank you for coming.”

            Cas forced a smile. “Thanks for having me.” He moved over onto the couch and swallowed the butterflies in his stomach. He’d made it. He’d succeeded. And yet, he still felt like he was pulling lies out of his ass and everyone could smell them. He rested back against the couch cushions, readying himself to look attentive and interested, and not like he was spiralling into thoughts about Dean and his ex-wife.


	11. Chapter 11

“He dragged me!” Dean exclaimed as he hit pause on the interview for the eleventh time. He shot a glare at Chuck, who had slumped into the chair at the hotel desk some twenty minutes earlier, and pointed accusingly at the laptop screen. “He called me a ‘notorious playboy.’ How the hell is that supposed to help my reputation with the label?”

            Chuck sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You are a notorious playboy. It’d be weird if he didn’t acknowledge it.”

            “Jimmy already said it! Cas didn’t have to repeat it! How am I supposed to clear my name with the label if my so-called boyfriend can’t even say nice fucking things about me?”

            “For starters, you could have gone to the meet-and-greet.”

            Dean went on as if Chuck hadn’t spoken at all. He hit play on the laptop and Cas’ voice filled the room. _“...can’t keep it in his pants for ten seconds?”_ Dean slammed his thumb onto the spacebar.

            “Can’t keep it in my pants for ten seconds.” He shook his head and started to pace again. “Why not just call me a slut and get it over with? Call me a serial cheater? Why the fuck not? Who cares that I’ve never cheated on one damn person in my entire life?”

            “Because you’ve never dated anyone for longer than it takes you to get off.”

            Dean flipped him off. Crossing his arms tight across his chest, he continued to pace while occasionally throwing glares at the paused interview. Cas looked so at ease, spouting lies like he was made for it. But Dean didn’t get how Sam could say _he_ was the one who had a problem with putting his foot in his mouth when Cas had outright admitted all the reasons Dean shouldn’t be trusted. Weren’t they trying to change his reputation? Mentally, Dean started composing a letter of complaint to Sam but it was hard to keep it professional when he wanted to call his brother a bitch.

            “Shit,” Chuck said.

            Dean turned his attention back to his agent. “What? After that shit show, my label wants to drop me indefinitely?”

            “No.” His voice was slow and measured like he was talking to a particularly slow toddler. But he kept his eyes on his phone screen, scrolling slowly. “But Cas mentioned the damn meet-and-greet on air. And you didn’t go to it. So take a wild damn guess what rumours are flying now?”

            Dean shrugged.

            “They think you’re cheating on him.” Chuck glared up at Dean. “They think you lied to him about where you were going to be and that sweet, _innocent_ Cas is being played.”

            “So put out a press release about how I got sick or some shit.”

            “I already did! No one actually thinks you get food poisoning this much.”

            Dean rolled his eyes and flopped down on the bed. He scrolled back to the video and let it play again, let Cas’ voice wash over him as Chuck groaned. Dean turned up the volume. He’d rather listen to Cas insult him than deal with Chuck bitching at him while he should be fixing the problem.

            Then Dean’s phone buzzed. He glanced down and saw Sam’s name. He hesitated. It’d just be more of the same – yet another person telling him he should go where they told him to when they wanted him to so that he didn’t screw up the perfectly packaged story. Dean declined the call.

            He sat up. “How long would it take to fly to New York?”

            Chuck looked at him doubtfully. “An hour, tops?”

            “Let’s go.” Dean jumped off the bed and started shoving the clothes he’d thrown around the room into his bag. He grabbed his toiletries out of the bathroom and emerged to find Chuck still sitting in exactly the same spot. “Come on. Move. Let’s go.”

            “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

            “Going to New York. Keep up.” Dean grabbed Chuck’s bag and threw in the two things his agent had taken out – a paperback romance novel and a travel-sized hand lotion.

            Chuck continued to stare at him.

            Sighing, Dean placed both their bags by the hotel room door and said, “We go to New York. I sneak into Cas’ hotel room. In the morning, the paps get pictures of us leaving together. You and Sam spin some bullshit about me missing my boyfriend, realizing he wasn’t that far away, and going to meet him. I wasn’t cheating on him. I was waiting in his damn hotel room.”

            “And how do you want to deal with the timeline inconsistency?” Chuck said. “We still have to check-out here. People know you’re here. And it’s almost fucking midnight so—”

            “Pay them the fuck off. Do I have to do everything myself?”

            Chuck shook his head, even as the corner of his mouth twisted upwards. “Let me check with Sam first.”

            Dean groaned and pulled Chuck out of the chair as he phoned Sam. With whispered words, the two of them hammered out the details as Dean dragged Chuck down the hall. At the elevators, Chuck stopped him and directed him to go down the back staircase with his stuff. Dean followed the order without question. After all, if they were actually considering his plan, the least he could do was go easy on them.

            A rental car whipped around the back of the hotel eight minutes later. Chuck opened the passenger door and Dean got in, barely managing to close the door before Chuck drove off.

            The airport was as still as an abandoned house. Planes sat on the tarmac among abandoned luggage carts and flaccid orange flags. Chuck parked in the half hour lot and they headed towards the departures level.

            “Not to shit on my own idea but... aren’t planes grounded after eleven?” Dean looked around at the empty airport. The fluorescents were still on, bathing the too-clean area in an eerie glow. A janitor stood at the end of the hall sweeping back and forth, back and forth, as if he was a record with a scratch in it. The TVs were off, no longer proclaiming their airlines and flight times, and the desks looked oddly empty without employees behind them. The luggage carousel had stopped.

            “Sam’s got a pilot friend who owes him a favour. He’ll meet us on the tarmac.”

            Dean almost asked how the hell they were going to get to the tarmac but a red EXIT sign over a set of stairs answered that for him. They raced down the concrete steps and stepped out into the cool night air. Humidity pricked the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck but still the breeze goosebumped his arms.

            One plane was facing towards the runway, its lights on and engine running. He headed towards it, only to stop at the stairs when he realized Chuck wasn’t on his heels.

            “I have to go,” Chuck said. “Sammy will meet you at the airport and get you to Cas.”

            Dean nodded but he felt uncertainly swirl in his stomach. He climbed the stairs all the same and settled into one of the seats. The pilot asked him if he was ready and he nodded as he buckled his seatbelt. Usually, he slept on planes, but tonight, his thoughts were too loud for him to even think of closing his eyes.

            He should have gone to the meet-and-greet. It was three hours of his life and he was already there and why couldn’t he have just left the hotel room? The car was waiting, Chuck was ready, he wouldn’t have even been alone. And it would have stopped him from leaving the hotel under the cover of nightfall to prove he wasn’t cheating on his fake boyfriend just because he hadn’t wanted to sit in a hot, sweaty room with a bunch of girls half his age who wanted to marry him.

            As he got closer to New York, Dean’s anxiety spiralled. He felt covered in sweat even though he was cold. He fiddled with the fan above his head and then, finally, turned off the light. Even in the darkness, he could hear Sam scolding him for messing this up, even if he was the one who’d had the idea to fix it.

            Dean chewed his bottom lip. Despite popular opinion, he didn’t want to disappoint Sam. He didn’t even get a kick out of pissing him off. It seemed to be a natural talent of his, something he did without thinking, kind of like breathing or eating. They had been close, once. Before their mom died and certainly after their dad left. Before Sam left the band to go to university and Dean had to deal with being outed all on his own. Before Sam had taken a professional route and Dean had tried his hand at a normal life, a girl and a kid and a nine-to-five job. Before Sam had become successful and Dean had fallen back into the life as easily as a baby taking its first steps.

            The plane landed with a few bumps but Dean thanked the pilot and walked onto the tarmac with his bag. Sam took it from him when he reached him and said, “Cas’ hotel has a backdoor. It’s alarmed but with a little help, I got a staffer to prop it open for us. We can use the staff elevator to get you up to his floor and, from there, all you’ve got to do is get up in the morning.”

            Dean nodded. He got into Sam’s car and watched the lights flash by in the night sky. With so many skyscrapers and neon signs, the stars were obscured by pollution. Sam stopped at the back of a nondescript building, in what looked like the alley from a horror movie, and unlocked the doors. “Seventh floor, room 732.”

            Dean looked at his brother. “Thank you,” he said, putting as much weight behind the two words as he could.

            “Don’t thank me yet,” Sam said. “It still has to work.”

            With a small smile, Dean slipped from the car and through the propped-open door. He found the staff elevator without any real trouble and hit the button for the seventh floor. Once there, he had to wander around to find the sign that showed which way the rooms were, but luckily, everyone was fast asleep. He got to Cas’ room without a hitch and knocked.

            Cas opened the door looking two steps up from a total train wreck. Dark circles wrinkled under his eyes and his hair stuck up in every direction. Stubble dotted his chin. He wore just a black t-shirt and a pair of blue boxers.

            Dean had the crazy urge to touch him, to pull him in, even though there were no cameras around to see them.

            “You’re a moron,” Cas said in lieu of a greeting.

            Dean cracked a smile. “A moron you’re dating.”

            A soft sound left Cas, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, as he stepped back from the door. Dean stepped inside, at once surprised and unsurprised by the size of the room. It was just a standard hotel room with a queen bed, a desk, and a bathroom. Nothing special or unique, without even a gift basket from the front desk to thank Cas for staying with them.

            The door banged shut. Dean turned to see Cas covering a yawn.

            “Sorry for keeping you up,” Dean said. His guilt roiled.

            Cas shrugged. “I was up. Jack’s having some trouble in math class.”

            “At one a.m.?”

            “It’s only ten in California. And I told him to go to bed an hour ago.” Cas stepped away from the door and walked around Dean.

            Dean snorted as he turned to face him again. “Isn’t he like fifteen?”

            “So?”

            “So at fifteen, I was staying up until two.”

            Cas sat down on the end of the bed. “Partying?”

            Dean almost accepted the statement, even though it was far from the truth. When people wanted to think the worst of him, Dean wanted to let them. It was easier that way. The tabloids could say what they wanted about him and he wouldn’t care because it was all true, in a way, all the bad things.

            But instead, he shook his head. “Sometimes, sure,” he admitted, “but mostly, it was in an effort not to flunk Spanish.”

            Cas frowned. “At two in the morning?”

            Dean dropped his bag and stepped further into the room. “There wasn’t really any other time.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I had to help Sammy with his homework and cook dinner, wash the dishes, get Sam to piano lessons and soccer and—”

            “What about your parents?”

            Dean shot him an odd look. Then he remembered. As many crazy things as that folder had said, Sam had all but skipped over the fate of their parents. Or at least, he’d failed to mention how young it had all happened. And he’d bullshitted the half of it they’d never told the public.

            He must have looked hurt or haunted, because Cas quickly said, “You don’t have to tell me.”

            “No, it’s...” Dean trailed off. Then, without really thinking about it, he sat down beside Cas on the bed. He stared at his own hands clasped together in his lap. He cleared his throat. “Our mom died when I was twelve. Sammy was eight. And our dad was... a mess. He’d been a mess before but she’d always reined him in. And I couldn’t take her place, couldn’t control him, so... at fourteen, I got emancipated and filed for custody of Sam.”

            Dean risked a glance at Cas, who was staring at him with wide blue eyes. “So at fifteen, while I might have snuck out to the occasional party, I was Sam’s only full-time parent. I dropped out of high school at sixteen and got my GED right before we started the band. Sam was only seventeen at the time, but he’d overloaded his schedule and graduated early to help me live my dream, essentially.”

            “That must have been hard,” Cas said. “Is... is your dad still around?”

            Dean shook his head. His lips quirked, maybe trying to smile, but the expression failed. He looked down again. “He passed, umm, a few years after we left him. Overdose.”

            A long silence followed. Then, Cas reached over and placed his hand over Dean’s. He squeezed tight and the silence didn’t feel so heavy anymore. Cas’ shoulder knocked into his and Dean allowed himself to lean into the other man’s weight, to feel his breathing and match it to his own. He blinked back the wetness in his eyes, the feelings he didn’t know he still carried with him. He choked out, “It wouldn’t have happened if we’d stayed.”

            “It would have,” Cas said. “Some things we can’t change.”

            Dean took a deep breath and let it out. The hotel room, painted brown and gold, glowed in the light of a single lamp. The curtains shut out the lights outside but still, below, traffic whizzed by. It struck Dean how late it was to be sitting like this, talking like this. And he knew he should open his mouth to say something, to tell Cas they should go to sleep, but his jaw wouldn’t move.

            “I’m sorry,” Cas said suddenly.

            “For what?”

            “I told you I didn’t want you around my kids and I...” Cas swallowed. “You raised your brother. You’re not the person the tabloids make you out to be. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

            Dean felt his heart hit his feet. “It’s fine.”

            “Can I ask one more question?” Cas’ fingers tapped against Dean’s.

            Dean opened his clasped hands and caught Cas’ hand. He laced their fingers together and held on tight. “Sure.”

            Cas swallowed hard. “Why didn’t you go to the meet-and-greet?”

            If his heart had been in his feet before, now it was splattered on the ground below. Dean felt his stomach drop after it and some unreasonable, irrational part of his brain wanted to snap at Cas. It was the part of his brain that usually won but, tonight, Dean was so tired that he didn’t feel like fighting.

            “I was scared,” he said.

            Cas turned to look at him. “Of what?”

            Dean shrugged. He had never tried to put it in words before, never wanted anyone to know. “I love my job and I love making music but my least favourite part of it is the fans.” He licked his lips. “It didn’t used to be. I used to love them, especially in the band. But it got to the point where... where they started to demand things of me. They wanted specific things and, if I couldn’t deliver, they didn’t want me anymore. And after I was outed, after the band broke up, I...”

            Dean shook his head. “It’s stupid.”

            “It’s not.” Cas squeezed his hand.

            Dean raised their intertwined hands and kissed Cas’ knuckles. He kept his lips there for a long moment, eyes squeezed shut. When he finally dropped their hands, untangling their fingers in the process, the words came out in a rush.

            “My last fan experience was the day the news dropped. And it was a damn riot. I had no idea what to do, no formal PR training, no one there to help me. Sam and Jo had already left. I was the only one who had committed to coming and... and my entire life fell apart right there, right in front of a thousand screaming fans, and no one helped me.

            “So whenever the label or Chuck or Sam or whoever else tells me there’s a fan experience or a meet-and-greet or fucking backstage passes at a concert, I go numb. And I remember sitting there, alone, with no one to help me. Sometimes I can push through it. If I know Sam will be there or Chuck or both of them. If I know it’s not a long one. But sometimes... sometimes it’s just too much to handle.”

            The silence fell again and Dean could feel Cas struggling for words, trying to figure out what to say. Dean already knew what the right response was – he was pathetic for being scared of a couple of teenagers. He had better security now and was never left alone at these things. More than that, he knew there’d been more at stake this time and he’d still chickened out. Cas would be right to call him a coward and too good if he refrained.

            Then, to Dean’s surprise, Cas reached an arm around him and pulled him into a tight hug.


	12. Chapter 12

“Kelly and I weren’t really happy,” Cas said, feeling the words like lead in his mouth. He sat cross-legged on the bed like a teenager, facing Dean who had sprawled out on his side and was watching him with rapt attention. “It feels so weird to say that. I was devastated when she cheated on me and hurt and confused when she wanted to end things. I loved her with everything I had.”

            “So what happened?”

            “I think you can love a lot of people in your life. I don’t believe in soulmates or the one. You can learn to love anyone if you give them the chance. But being in love with someone isn’t enough to build your life with them.” Cas paused for a moment and took a deep breath. “Kelly was larger than life. She still is. And I fell for everything she is and everything she was and I... lost myself in her. All I wanted, more than anything, was for her to be happy. And I forgot what it was like to know that I wasn’t.”

            Dean stared at him for a long moment and then shifted into a sitting position. He pulled an odd expression. “I don’t get it.”

            “Don’t get what? Kelly?”

            “No, Kelly’s hot and she’s basically the devil. I get wanting to bang her,” Dean said. “What I don’t understand is how, if you’re the perfect husband, if you’re one goal in life is to make her happy, why does _she_ leave _you_?”

            Cas stared at Dean for a long moment. He didn’t notice he was fidgeting with the sheets until Dean reached forward and caught his fingers, stilling his hands. “I wasn’t,” Cas said. “I wasn’t the perfect husband. I idolized her and pretended she was perfect and made her feel like she wasn’t even human.”

            He licked his lips and looked down. “That’s how she got the kids. She claimed I’d dote on them too much, think they were too perfect, and they’d grow up feeling like they could never make a mistake.”

            Dean squeezed his hands.

            Cas pulled them back to wipe at his eyes. “I’m sorry, I—” He was cut off by a chime from his phone. Reaching for it, he turned off the alarm and checked the time: nine a.m. He glanced towards the shaded windows and saw the sun trying to peek through. “It’s morning.”

            “What?” Dean reached for his own phone. “Shit.”

            Cas licked his lips and watched Dean as he flicked through his notifications, his fingers moving smoothly across the screen. Slowly, the tension returned to his shoulders and the late night sleepiness left him. Cas felt his heart shrink and regretted bringing the outside world into the room.

            “We should—” Cas began.

            At the same time, Dean said, “Let’s—”

            Cas forced a laugh and met Dean’s eyes again. It was ridiculous, the sudden distance between them. Seconds before, Dean had taken his hands like it was the most natural thing in the world. Now, it felt like they were standing on other sides of the room, even though they were so close Cas would only have to lean forward to kiss him.

            It scared him that he wanted to. That Dean sat just a foot from him, looking sleepy and unshaven, and Cas’ first, most natural, instinct was to lean forward and lay his lips on his. He’d brush his fingers through his stubble, anchor himself on the back of his neck, and then lose himself to the control of Dean’s kisses. But he knew that was the wrong move. Hadn’t he just admitted to losing himself to Kelly, to breaking everything apart because he didn’t know who he was?

            His phone rang, snapping him out of his reverie. _Claire_. He answered before the second ring. “Is everything okay?”

            “Jack wants to know if donuts count as breakfast,” she said. “I said that they definitely did but he’s going on about nutrition and mom’s still in the car so I need you to break the tie.”

            Cas chuckled. “You really think you’ll get a different answer from me than from your mother?”

            “It’s worth a shot.”

            “Donuts are not—”

            Before Cas could finish his sentence, Dean snatched the phone from him. “I’m pretty sure your dad was about to say donuts aren’t breakfast and I need to save you from his poor judgement. Donuts are breakfast, Claire.”

            Claire’s laughter rang out through the phone as Cas looked up at Dean, partly in shock and partly in awe. He handed the phone back and Cas said, “Claire, don’t listen—”

            “Too late. Already ordered them.” She popped her lips like she was already licking icing off her fingers. Cas heard the tinkle of change being exchanged. “I like your fake boyfriend. He gives good parenting advice.”

            Cas sighed. “Don’t call me when you have a sugar crash in first period.”

            “I’ll text,” she said and then hung up without a goodbye.

            Cas shook his head while slipping his phone into his back pocket. “Thanks for that.” He got off the bed and started to rummage through his suitcase for a pair of jeans. The black shirt he had on smelled slightly of sweat and Dean’s cologne, but it’d get him through breakfast and the plane ride just fine.

            He turned back while zipping his jeans to find Dean shrugging on a new shirt. He had just a glimpse of the smooth expanse of Dean’s back, his lean muscles, and a nasty looking burn scar across his shoulder. Without thinking, he reached for it and set his hand down over the mark.

            Dean hissed and Cas flinched back. “Sorry.”

            “It’s fine.”

            The coldness in his tone brought back that distance and Cas fought to keep his heart beating in his chest. He tried to remember what Charlie had told him – that all of Dean was an act, put on for his sake. And maybe that was true. He was starting to believe that Dean wasn’t the person the tabloids made him out to be, but what if he was? What if that was the real Dean and the rest of his story, everything he had told Cas last night, had been carefully constructed to make Cas fall for him? He had certainly nailed him down – show you’re a good parent, that you have a heart and vulnerabilities, and Cas would do anything to protect him.

            Dean reached the door and looked back. “You ready?”

            Cas nodded. After all, he was an actor. And he could play pretend when he needed to.

            They headed down to breakfast and the hostess nearly fainted when Dean smiled at her. They ordered copious amounts of coffee – Cas finally felt the fatigue of staying up all night hit him, finally remembered he was nearly forty and not in college anymore – and perused the breakfast menu. Dean insisted on the buffet and came back with two plates piled high with bacon, eggs, pancakes, French toast, sausages, and donuts. Cas stared as Dean placed one plate in front of him.

            “I’m not eating this,” he said.

            “Of course not.” Dean rolled his eyes and waved someone over as he sat.

            A waiter approached sheepishly and placed a bowl of cereal, a small container of milk, and a parfait beside the stacked plate Dean had put down. Then he disappeared before Cas could get out a thank you.

            He poured the milk in his cereal and then swirled it with his spoon as Dean stuffed bacon into his mouth. The silence that fell between them was so unlike last night when Cas had felt like any silence could be filled with a single touch and like the words were almost keeping them further apart. He knocked his knee against Dean’s under the table and immediately pulled it back as he took his first bite of cereal and listened to it crunch between his teeth.

            “Is Sam tipping anyone off?” Cas asked after a few minutes of silence.

            Dean shrugged. “Didn’t ask.”

            Cas nodded. He finished off his cereal and moved on to the parfait. When Dean finished his plate, he reached over without warning and took the one in front of Cas. Cas backed off, waited, and then moved his food to the centre of his placemat. He took two bites of the parfait before abandoning his spoon and glugging the last of his coffee.

            “Tired?”

            “Aren’t you?”

             “Not really. Just felt like being on tour again.”

            “Right.”

            Cas felt like his soul was trying to crawl out of his throat and closing his mouth was a small security measure to stop that from happening. He looked around the crowded breakfast room and saw no one paying them any attention whatsoever. Not even a teenager with their phone out, pretending to take selfies while really taking pictures of them. And Cas wasn’t about to go through all of last night, followed by this horrible morning, for no pay off.

            “Do you have to eat all of that?” he said, pitching his voice just a little too loud.

            Dean looked up at him, surprise and confusion warring on his face. “What?”

            “Your cholesterol must be off the charts. Your heart’s gonna explode. And what then?” Cas gave Dean a look, like he expected him to debate the issue, but Dean was too thrown to get a word out. Cas continued, “I’ll tell you what happens. You die. And I have to live in your big glass house all by myself.”

            Dean cocked an eyebrow at him and swallowed down his smile. “You need to calm the fuck down,” he replied. “It’s _bacon_ , not cyanide.”

            “Might as well be.”

            “Cas.” He said the word with such honey-sweet affection, and an edge to his tone like they had had this conversation multiple times, that Cas could imagine this so clearly as his morning routine. Dean reached forward and took his hand. “I’m not going to die on you.”

            “How can I know that?”

            “Because I’m immortal.” Dean stuffed a piece of bacon in his mouth and, without chewing, smashed his lips against Cas’. Cas felt the grease and smelled the bacon and was released without ceremony. He wiped the bacon residue off his lips with the back of his hand. “You worry too much,” Dean added.

            “I worry enough for both of us.”

            Dean lowered his voice, his eyes softening. “Don’t.” He brushed a crumb off the edge of Cas’ lip and licked it off his thumb, his eyes wide and starry, smiling like Cas was the most precious thing he’d ever seen.

            And even as the cameras went off, even as Cas heard the clicking and saw a few flashes out of the corner of his eye, he couldn’t help but feel like he’d already fucked everything up.

 

Later, after Cas’ phone had blown up with pictures from breakfast and outside the hotel and the airport, he got a call from Charlie. He answered it halfway through the first ring, gesturing for Dean to stay put as he walked away from their spot in the airport’s waiting area. As Charlie spoke, going on rapidly about how good the pictures were, about how the reports of them moving in together were flooding her Twitter feed and how the fan battles were heating up, Cas made his way into the men’s bathroom.

            He checked the stalls to make sure they were empty and then leaned back against the sinks. “Charlie,” he said.

            She stopped talking immediately. “What’s wrong?”

            “I need you to tell me again. Tell me he’s not who he seems to be.”

            There was a long silence on the line. “Can you do this?”

            “I have to.” Cas thought of the three emails sitting in his inbox – invitations to read scripts and offers for big roles in all of them – and the seven scripts Charlie said she’d already sent back to Dean’s house in L.A. “And I can. I just... last night was a lot. And I need to know that I’m crazy and he’s a better actor than we gave him credit for.”

            “Did you sleep with him?”

            “What? No.”

            “Then how was last night a lot?”

            “It just... was, okay?” Cas closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I just need you to be the voice of reason, Charlie. Please.”

            “He’s Dean Winchester.” Her voice was cold as ice. “He fucks whoever he wants and he fucks with them, too. He’s never been in a relationship that’s lasted longer than a week because he doesn’t want to be. I’d be surprised to find out he’s ever been in love with anyone other than himself and the dealer who keeps him in cocaine. He is a mess pretending not to be a mess so that his label won’t drop him like the flaming bag of shit he is.

            “You don’t want him in your life any longer than you have to have him there, Cas. This is a business arrangement. And if you can’t tell the difference between interest from your dick and interest from your heart, I suggest you start thinking about your family. Because you’re never going to get your kids back if you fall in love with Dean Winchester and have to file for joint custody with him named as your partner in the fucking suit.”

            Cas let the words wash over him. He quieted the part of him that said Charlie was exaggerating for his benefit and decided to believe every word out of her mouth. Still, Dean’s words from last night floated over him.

            On a whim, he asked, “When did Dean’s parents die?”

            “They died in a car crash when he was eighteen,” Charlie said. “It’s in the file.”

            “Thanks,” Cas managed before he hung up the phone. Then, he launched himself off the counter and into the nearest stall, where he fell to his knees and vomited for the second time that week.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided to post all of this at once instead of spreading out my updates so I'm gonna try to get out all the remaining chapters out in the next few days!

Cas was cold and quiet the whole way home. Dean tried not to think too hard about why that was but he couldn’t stop his thoughts from swirling. Had he said anything offensive? Had he crossed a line somewhere? He stole glances at Cas on the Uber home but couldn’t think of where he’d gone wrong. Last night had been perfect but it had also existed in a bubble. As soon as Cas’ alarm went off, Dean had felt their whole dynamic shift.

            The car pulled up outside his house and Dean was relieved to see just a few photographers on his front lawn. He knew most of them well enough that he didn’t feel the need to put on a show but Cas reached out and gripped his hand tightly. It hurt. But Dean squeezed back just as hard, giving as good as he got.

            They slipped out of the car and the driver handed them their bags. Dean tipped him as Cas disentangled from him and headed into the house. As he grabbed the handle of his suitcase, Dean heard the photographers start to shout.

            “Trouble in paradise?”

            “Mad Dean missed his meet-and-greet?”

            “Too much time together?”

            “Honeymoon already over?”

            Cas had reached the front door by the time Dean was in the thick of them and, as he fumbled for the spare key hidden under the mailbox, Dean slowed. He looked Kevin straight in the eye and the boy nodded before stepping back. He let his camera hang loose around his neck. Slowly, the others followed suit. Dean pulled out his wallet, counted out the bills, and handed each of the photographers a wad of cash. As soon as their fingers were tightly wound around the bills, they scattered.

            Cas waited for him just inside the front door. He looked over Dean’s shoulder. “How’d you do that?”

            “If you pay them more than then the tabloids will, they go away.”

            “How do they know?”

            “They’re good at their jobs,” Dean said. “Photos of us walking up our drive aren’t exactly gold. If I’d tried the same trick when we’d come home from the bar making out—”

            “I get it.”

            Dean shut his mouth abruptly and licked his lips. He watched as Cas pushed past the boxes of clothes Charlie had sent ahead and went right for the stairs. Leaning back against the door, Dean flicked the lock and looked at the mess that was his living room. Boxes and packages addressed to Cas sat along the right-hand wall. Otherwise, his house looked the same as always.

            Dean scrubbed a hand down his face and headed for the couch. He flopped down, flipped through the channels, and settled on some house renovation show he could easily ignore. When he pulled out his phone, it was to a dozen alerts from Twitter, seven text messages, and two missed calls.

            He opened Twitter first to the usual stream of well-wishers tagging him in excited posts or tabloids trying to get a rise out of him. But, right at the bottom of his notifications, there was a tweet that made his heart sink. He opened it all the way in spite of himself to read the full message, even though he already knew the gist of it.

            “You’re getting them too?”

            Dean looked up to see Cas standing over him, phone in hand. He swallowed the bile in his throat and forced himself to look casual. “I get them all the time,” he said. “Your first?”

            Cas nodded and came to sit beside Dean. Dean leaned over to get a look at his screen to see the same tweet that had tagged both of them and then three more directly targeting Cas. One of them even told him to go back to Kelly to ‘straighten himself out.’ Dean took a deep breath, wondering what he was supposed to say. The first time around, there’d been no one to save him from the homophobes, and the second time around, his fuck-you attitude had gotten him through the worst of it. No one had ever offered him comfort.

            He was about to reach for Cas – to touch his hand or his thigh – when the other man hit the retweet button on the one tagged for both of them. “What are you doing?” Dean asked.

            “Giving him a piece of my mind,” Cas said as he typed.

            “That’s exactly what they want.”

            Cas shrugged. “Then they’re getting what they want.”

            Dean looked over at what he was typing and tried to grab the phone to no avail. “You can’t post that. You’re a public damn figure.”

            “Who cares?”

            “I do. You should.” Dean grabbed Cas’ wrist before he could hit the tweet button. Cas glared at him, fire in his blue eyes like Dean had never seen. “What the hell has gotten into you? Aren’t you Mr. Play it Safe?”

            Cas stared at him for a long moment and then wrenched his wrist out of Dean’s grasp. He deleted the tweet, tossed his phone onto the couch, and got to his feet. As he left the room, he grabbed an envelope stuffed full of scripts.

           

The next week was more of the same. Cas barely spoke to him and Dean felt the cold like an ice age sweeping across his house. For the first time in a long time, he felt lonely. Every attempt at conversation with Cas went sour and the man barely seemed able to stand him when they went out for staged dates. The cold was giving Dean a headache and confusing him beyond measure, but whatever was going on with Cas, he decidedly did not want to talk about it.

            The boxes slowly disappeared from the front hall but Dean had no idea where they were going. At first, he’d assumed Cas was unpacking but then he got the distinct impression that Cas was sending them back to Michigan. Scripts were strewn across the living room, some highlighted, others with notes in pen, more with title pages crossed out in bright red marker.

            Dean sat at the kitchen counter having breakfast just before noon when Cas came in, hair disheveled, bags under his eyes. Without preamble, he said, “This isn’t working.”

            Dean looked up at him and blinked, spoon halfway to his mouth. “What?” he said and then filled his mouth with cereal.

            “Living together,” Cas said. “The fake dating thing is going fine, whatever, it’s helping my career and the tabloids seem convinced you’ve calmed down a bit but... I can’t live here anymore. I’m going back to Michigan.”

            Dean sputtered, swallowed, and then said, “That makes no sense. How are you going to audition for movies from _Michigan_?”

            Cas shrugged. “I’ve managed it before. I’ll manage it again.”

            “How are we going to keep up the ‘living together’ ruse if you move out?”

            “We’ll say it was too soon. We’re fine but we decided not to live together.”

            “No one’s going to believe that anymore than they believe ‘consciously uncoupling.’”

            Cas shrugged again and looked away. He had left a script out on the kitchen counter and he moved it closer now, eyes scanning the page slowly.

            Dean snatched the script away. “Don’t bullshit me. You threw this one in the trash last week.”

            Cas blinked. “Then why is it on the counter?”

            “I dug it up to see how fucking far you’d go to avoid having a conversation with me.” Dean threw his spoon into the cereal, causing an anti-climactic splash of milk to splatter the marble countertop. “But I didn’t expect the answer to be ‘all the way to Michigan.’”

            Cas shook his head. “You’re a child, Dean.”

            “You’re a child. How about just telling me what the fuck is wrong instead of moping around like a wronged toddler?”

            Cas glared at him, his blue eyes sparking. “Fine,” he said. The word popped on his lips, sparking like a campfire. “You want to know what’s wrong? You lied to me. I trusted you and you lied to me.”

            “When?”

            “You told me your parents died when you were young, that you took care of your brother, and it was all bullshit.”

            “What the hell are you talking about?”

            Cas slammed his hand down onto the counter. “I’m talking about the bullshit you spun in New York to manipulate me into liking you. That was fucking low, Dean, even for you. You lied about your parents’ deaths. How fucking twisted are you?”

            Dean stared up at him for a long moment, shock and cold working through his body. He’d thought the silence was bad, the cold shoulder. But this, Cas yelling and accusing him, was a hundred times worse. He felt like his internal organs had been crushed into a fine pulp and he had trouble breathing. “I didn’t lie,” he managed, his voice choked.

            “Really? Then explain why it says they died in a car crash when you were eighteen in the file.” Cas shrugged, his frown carefully set on his face like he was in the middle of a scene. Dean wished he was. “You’re the one with the motive to lie to me, Dean. Not Sam.”

            Dean swallowed hard. He looked down at his soaking cereal, at the spoon lying in the middle of the bowl. It took all his composure, all the walls he had built up inside, just to push back the tears. With a deep and unsettling calm, he met Cas’ eyes again. “I didn’t lie to you. Sam wrote down the story that the press knows.”

            Cas’ hard expression faltered but just a little. “Why would—”

            “We were kids when we formed the band. Barely old enough to take care of ourselves, let alone deal with all the rumours swirling around our home life. Sam told the lie in an early interview because it was easier that way and we’ve kept the story ever since.”

            Dean swallowed hard and forced himself to stay calm even as Cas’ hard facade broke into pieces. Dean could see it all in his eyes – the regret, the worry, the pity – but he shut down the part of himself that wanted to forgive him. “How the fuck,” he said, his voice as dead-weighted as he could manage, “could you think I would lie about something like that?”

            “Dean—” Cas took a step forward.

            Shaking his head, Dean pushed out of his seat and grabbed his cereal bowl. He dumped the contents into the sink. “Go back to Michigan, Cas. It’ll be better that way.” He ran the water as fast as he could, both to drown out any reply Cas might think up and to stop himself from shaking. He methodically scrubbed out his bowl, even though just a rinse would have made it practically spotless. Eventually, Cas left the room.

            Dean let out a heavy sigh and dropped the bowl into the sink. His shoulders sunk, the weight of the world coming back to him, and he closed his eyes tight against the building pressure in his skull. At the very least, he could take pleasure in the fact that he wasn’t the only asshole in this fake relationship.

            His phone rung and Dean answered it when he saw Sam’s name. He turned off the water. “Sammy,” he said, sounding a little breathless. “What’s up?”

            “Chuck said you weren’t returning his calls.”

            Dean looked down at the soaked cereal at the bottom of the sink, covered in soap suds. “Yeah, well,” he said. Phone calls from Chuck were rarely good news and the chance Dean answered them before breakfast was slim to none.

            “Your label is giving you another chance.”

            Dean brightened. “There’s a contract?”

            “No contract,” Sam said. “They want you to extend your tour. They’re adding a few new cities and want you to return to the places where you missed concerts as well. If you meet all your obligations, they’re willing to sign you again.”

            Dean’s heart swelled and he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. “Yes,” Dean said, “of course, I’ll—”

            “Call Chuck,” Sam said. “I’ve got to go.”

            “Right. Bye, Sammy.” Dean knew the last words were lost to the dial tone but he waited just a second to see if maybe he was wrong. When no reply came and the call ended tone sounded, Dean dropped his phone onto the counter. He stared at it for a long moment before calling Chuck back.


	14. Chapter 14

Cas kicked a box out of the way as he made his way back into his house. Everything about it was different from Dean’s. While Dean’s home was all glass, white walls, and blue-green furniture, Cas’ home was a yellow-beige with flickering warm lights and brown couches. Cas immediately felt safer and more at home. He let out a long sigh.

            He dropped the last of his bags as he shut the door behind him and hung his key on the hook. He let his fingers brush over the green and blue keychain his kids had made him when he moved out. Even at twelve, the gesture had seemed a little young for Jack, but he had pressed it into Cas’ fingers with such gentle desperation and said, “So we’re always with you.” Cas hadn’t let go of it since.

            Part of Cas knew he should feel worse, that the guilt should be eating him alive, but he just couldn’t dredge up the necessary emotions. The last week had been a flurry of activity – him getting ready to leave for Michigan and Dean getting ready to leave on tour – and they had barely spoken. Cas had tried and failed to apologize. Dean had tried and failed to accept that apology. A cold comfort had wrapped around them, much like the relationships Cas was used to having with other industry professionals. Curt but polite. He had gotten used to that.

            And he had missed his couch. As he sunk into it, he felt his eyes start to close even though it was barely evening and he hadn’t eaten dinner yet. He kicked off his shoes and threw his feet up over the armrest. The TV screen was black but he couldn’t summon the effort to reach for the remote, so he just let himself drift, finally comfortable and warm after nearly three weeks of unberable L.A. heat.

            He woke before the sun rose. His phone had buzzed its way off the table and was still lighting up with notifications. Frowning, Cas picked it up. He had expected news from Charlie or maybe a new game plan from Sam now that they were pretending to do the whole long-distance thing. At the edge of his wildest dreams, he had expected Chuck to call telling him Dean had already slept with a stewardess on his flight to Toronto.

            But none of those possibilities seemed to be the truth. Instead, Cas’ Instagram notifications were blowing up. He flicked one to the side and got caught in a long comment thread before he found the photo. It was the Toronto skyline, lit up against a pink and blue sunset, with the caption: _@angelofthursday wish you were here_.

            Cas stared at the words for a long moment before they started to make sense to him. Cotton-mouthed and bleary-eyed, it even took him a moment to realize that he was on Dean’s Instagram profile. He didn’t remember following him but maybe Charlie had taken care of that. She took care of most of his social media.

            He wondered if he should reply or if he should consult Charlie first. Starting to scroll through the comments again, he saw a lot of the usual – girls and guys vying for Dean’s attention, calling him hot even though he wasn’t even in the photo – and a few more comments about how sweet the message was. About halfway down, there was one homophobic comment about how Dean shouldn’t be gushing over his boyfriend when it was just a damn skyline. It was just one comment but it made Cas’ blood boil all over again.

            Replying would have to wait. Cas slipped off the couch and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Turning on lights as he went, he made his way into his small kitchen – if he had to, he’d admit he missed Dean’s fully-stocked chef’s kitchen – and fired up the burners on the stove. He got the coffee machine going, knowing it would take nearly an hour to get a drop out of it. He really needed to buy a new one.

            While things started up, he went back to the living room to grab his suitcase and dragged it into the kitchen. He pulled off his flight clothes and replaced them with a loose, ratty pair of grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt. He kicked off his socks as he cracked the eggs into the pan. For once in his life, he was grateful that he got the breakfast-in-bed tray from Kelly in the divorce.

            With breakfast made and meticulously arranged, Cas made his way up the stairs. His bedroom took up most of the second floor, with a small en suite tucked to the side. He set the tray down on a side table and then made the bed. He chose off-white sheets and a blue comforter, then spent almost twenty minutes trying to get the artistically-rumpled look to work. He set the tray down at an angle, then carefully sat on the bed.

            He fiddled with his camera. He had to sit awkwardly close to get his legs in the shot and the rising sun out his bedroom window. He took a few shots before settling on one, choosing a filter, and then hesitated on the caption page. Dean had told him not to call out the homophobes, not even politely, so he settled for simplicity: _@huntersheart wish you were HERE._ And hit post.

            Then he waited. And waited. He took a bite of his eggs, even though they were cold, and sipped at the coffee. Eventually he set his phone aside and started to eat for real. The sun rose and he got a few scripts out, flipping through the crisp white pages and marking down his thoughts every time something struck his interest. He knew after so many years without a hit he shouldn’t be so picky, but nothing had sparked his interest yet. And with Dean’s warning of _gore erotica_ still ringing in his ears, Cas couldn’t even make himself love the interspecies romances and sci-fi scripts that he read through.

            It was past noon when his phone pinged with a notification he actually cared for. His Instagram post had been flooded with the replies from Dean’s fans and his own, plus a few from people who didn’t seem to care about either of their work but definitely cared about _them_. But, this time, when he looked at his phone, the comment was from Dean. He swiped to open it.

            _Wish I was there too ;)_

            The comments exploded in response to that, so fast Cas had to turn his phone to silent or risk throwing it through the window. He felt the heat on his cheeks but tried to ignore it. He settled back into his pillows and forced himself to focus on the script at hand. It was a rom-com about a lawyer and his paralegal, completely derivative and very inappropriate. Cas would have discarded it immediately if focusing on how it angered him didn’t make him forget what Dean had said.

            Charlie called a few hours later. In lieu of a greeting, she said, “You have to reply.”

            “What?”

            “To Dean,” she said, sounding frantic, “On Instagram or Twitter or fucking Tumblr at this point, I don’t care.”

            Cas let her words sit in the silence for a moment and then switched her over to speaker. As she rambled, he checked the notifications he had been ignoring. At least twenty people on Instagram were pushing for him to reply, goading him into saying something in response. Twitter had exploded with mentions about how he had cold-shouldered Dean after the flirtatious Instagram post. People wondered if they were in a fight or a dry spell. Of course, Dean was no help, tweeting out only one reply to someone who asked him what it felt like to be ignored: _no trouble in paradise, Cas is just a prude_.

            Cas rolled his eyes. “What should I say?”

            She took a deep breath. “Are you looking at the prude tweet?”

            “Yup.”

            “Say...” She trailed off uncertainly. Cas hit the retweet button, waiting for her advice. “Anything. Anything at all. Just make it light, funny, flirty. Make it sexy if you want but don’t get defensive.”

            Cas bit back a retort about her being unhelpful. Instead, he stared at the screen for a few moments before typing out his reply, _sorry the hour we spent on the phone was too tame for you,_ and hitting the tweet button.

            A few seconds later, Charlie gasped. Then laughed. “Damn, ballsy, Cas.” Her chuckles continued for a few moments before she said, “You land on any scripts? Anything catching your interest?”

            Cas rubbed his eyes. “Not yet.”

            “Okay. Well, I’ll be in Michigan tomorrow so we can narrow it down together. Gotta go but see you soon!” She made a brief kissy noise and then hung up.

            Cas stared at the phone for a moment and then at his dirty dishes. With a sigh, he got up and started to clean his impromptu breakfast. Even though it was late afternoon, he showered and changed and moved his work station into the living room. When he looked back at his phone forty minutes later, it took five minutes just to scroll down the notifications on his screen.

            He opened Twitter instead of trying to sift through them and went to Dean’s profile. Sure enough, he had replied with: _you’re just so clearly inexperienced._

Cas typed: _I’ll buy a book._

He stared at the words for a moment before opening up Safari and starting to search for phone sex books. While he was initially unsure if such a thing existed, it only took a few brief words in a Google search bar to prove him wrong. By the time he fell asleep that night, he’d ordered three different books on Amazon for overnight delivery.

            The next morning, Charlie rang the doorbell. She held an Amazon box in her hands, which she handed over to Cas with a bright smile on her face. “Look at you,” she said. “If I had known all I needed to do to make you media-savvy was give you a boyfriend, I would have done it ages ago.”

            Cas flipped her off as she walked into the living room. She sunk down on the couch and spread out the scripts lying on the coffee table. “Have you been through these ones yet or are these the new ones?”

            “The new ones,” Cas called from the kitchen. He put down the box on the counter, grabbed a knife, and ripped through the tape. Under too many layers of paper sat three books. He took them out, fanned them in front of the box, and took a step back to take a picture. “Instagram or Twitter?”

            Charlie appeared in the doorway, one eyebrow raised. “Instagram it. Let the fans know they have to follow all sides of the story.”

            Cas snorted as he flipped over to the app. He captioned it: _@huntersheart as promised_

            “You’re really good at that.”

            “At what?”

            She shrugged. “Flirting with him.”

            Cas sighed and stepped towards her. Slinging one arm around her waist, he led her back out into the living room and plopped them both down onto the couch. “Trust me, it’s easier online than it is in person. He’s still barely speaking to me.”

            “Sorry about that.”

            Cas shrugged. “It is what it is.” He picked up the nearest script and turned over the title page. “Plus, if you hadn’t blown everything up, I might have been dangerously close to falling for him. And it’s your job to prevent that, right?”

            “You know it.” She gave him a half-hearted fist-bump and then shifted closer to read the script over his shoulder.

            They did that for a while, flipping between scripts and putting them down and picking others up. Charlie always wanted to get through at least ten pages before they rejected something whereas Cas could tell by the third line whether or not he was interested. The dialogue was stiff or the action was badly written or the plot was unoriginal and lacking depth.

            After an hour, Cas picked up his phone again. He considered turning off his social media notifications, if only for the peace and quiet. Dean had commented on the Instagram post, saying, _please tell me the one in the middle isn’t a joke_.

            Cas scrolled back up to the photo and felt the butterflies in his stomach take off. The book in the middle was aptly titled _Telling Your Partner What to Do: Phone Sex Edition_. Swallowing down all his nerves and every alarm bell ringing in his head, he replied, _wouldn’t you like to know_ , and abruptly dropped his phone.

            Charlie gave him an odd look and then reached forward to take the phone. He could have stopped her. He didn’t. She read the exchange and then started laughing. “Right,” she said, “because Dean would let anyone tell him what to do.”

            Her phone rang. She answered it on speaker. “What’s up, Sam?”

            “Please tell me you’re not actually telling Cas to talk about his sex life on social media.”

            Charlie gave Cas a conspiratorial look. “The fans love it.”

            “It’s inappropriate. They’re supposed to be a model couple.”

            “And ignore the fact that they’re red-blooded males? Come on, Sam.” Charlie gestured for Cas to keep reading as she put the phone to her ear and got off the couch. Her voice faded out as she walked away. “They’re just having a little fun...”


	15. Chapter 15

Dean loved Toronto about as much as he loved any other stop on a tour; which was to say, he knew nothing about the city and preferred to keep it that way. He’d argued, like a diva, for a more flexible tour schedule and got it only if he agreed to more events in each city. So he found himself being chauffeured to the _ETalk_ studios with little say in the matter.

            He flicked through his notifications as he went. He’d already fielded several angry texts from Sam before his brother had given up. Dean was good at getting Sam to give up on arguments. After all, simply insisting they hadn’t _actually_ had phone sex repeatedly was both off-topic and annoying to hear. Dean was pretty sure he could get out of any argument with a similar tactic.

            As the car approached the studio, Dean saw people lined up on the street outside. His blood ran cold and his phone rattled against his fingernails. As far as he could see, the interview space was carefully roped off with security circling it, but it would only take one distraction to get through the ropes.

            “How am I getting in?” Dean asked, forcing his voice to steady.

            Chuck didn’t even look up from his phone. “Backdoor.” He paused for a few seconds, typing something out, and then added, “Don’t worry, Dean. They’re Canadians. The worst they’ll do is ask politely to step over the ropes and shake your hand.”

            “Probably more excited to see Ben Mulroney,” Dean joked.

            He rolled down his window and placed his phone on the sill. Taking a few shots, he found one that had a clear view of the crowd and the _ETalk_ sign and uploaded it to Instagram. The caption simply said: _excited to see you, Canada_.

            He was about to shove his phone back into his pocket when it dinged. A notification that Cas had liked the photo. And then, a few seconds later, a comment that said, _I’m with you in spirit._ Dean smiled down at the words, reading them over and over again until the car stopped, Chuck ushered him out, and Dean remembered he had lots of reasons to be mad at Cas, cute comment or not.

            Backstage was a flurry of activity. Dean did his best to listen to the PA who spouted the rules at him like he had never been on a talk show before while another PA mic’d him and asked him to test it. Dean looked at the guy sideways and said, “What do you want me to say?” The guy gave him a thumbs-up and scurried away.

            The first PA, a girl with long red hair twisted into a messy bun, gestured for Dean to follow her as she started walking. She was rambling something about wind noise and speaking up and being sure to look at Ben, not the cameras. Her nerves, somehow, worked to calm Dean’s. As they came to a stop at a glass door leading out to the interview area, she took a deep breath and Dean said, “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.” He winked.

            The girl smiled. “It’s kind of my first day.”

            “You’re doing great.” Only a half lie. She’d done nothing wrong but he felt pointing out that most seasoned industry professionals wouldn’t let her ramble for so long would only hurt her confidence.

            He looked out the door to the interview area. A significant portion of the sidewalk and the roadway had been blocked off by red ropes. Along their edges, security and cameramen stood with all the attention of sentries who had been duty for too long. In the centre sat two red stools, one already occupied by Ben, who seemed to be chatting with the crowd as he waited for the cameras to start rolling. Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

            The PA touched his arm. “You’ll do great.”

            Dean managed a smile but said nothing. He fumbled for his phone before remembering that he’d given it to Chuck so it didn’t ruin the shot. He tried to remember if the interview was live or not – he felt like it must be with the outdoor environment and the audience, but couldn’t remember anyone telling him so – as he watched the show slowly start to get ready to roll. The cameramen shifted position, getting closer to their cameras and setting their shots. Ben’s smile went from easy to practiced perfect in the blink of an eye as he straightened on the stool and turned towards the camera. He seemed to be watching for something and Dean caught a woman standing off to the side of the camera, holding up a hand and telling him to wait. Then she started to count down from five on her hand.

            “Ready?” the PA whispered.

            Dean nodded. He watched the introduction without hearing the words and hoped it wasn’t too loud out there with the crowd and the street noises and the wind. The PA touched a hand to his back, gently pushing him forward, and Dean opened the door. As he stepped out, he raised his hand in a wave.

            The crowd exploded into shouts and screams. Some people raised signs into the air and Dean tried to scan their words but got little specific context. It was a plague of the usual marriage proposals and bad song title puns but he tried to smile at each one.

            Ben stood up as he approached, grabbed his hand and shook it while gently leading him over to the stools. Dean wondered if he looked as disoriented as he felt and that was why everyone was moving him as if he had little control over his legs. But as he thought about it, he checked the points of his poker face and found it all in place. Maybe Canadians were just too nice for their own good.

            Dean settled onto his stool and smiled until the crowd settled down. Ben smiled back at him and said. “First of all, let me just say, welcome back to Toronto. We are so glad to have you here with us today and so happy you decided to come back for your concert.”

            “I couldn’t leave the fans wanting.”

            “I’m sure everyone understood. Food poisoning isn’t exactly something you choose to have, is it?” He chuckled lightly.

            Dean chuckled back. It would be so easy to let it go, to let the opportunity slip by and make like he didn’t notice later on, but he steeled himself. Cas had been nice enough to offer his support here. Dean could do the same.

            “I mean, that was a little bit of a white lie.”

            “What do you mean?”

            Dean sighed. “I mean, I didn’t miss the concert due to food poisoning. I missed the concert because I met Cas.”

            The crowd screamed and Dean jumped. His eyes darted to the crowd, to the people suddenly smiling and shouting and whooping. He even heard a wolf whistle. With a nervous chuckle, he turned back to Ben. “People out here really like us, huh?”

            “Everyone’s a sucker for a love story.”

            Without much prompting, Dean launched into the story he and Cas had come up with. The hotel meeting. The old movies. Cuddling on the hotel couch. Falling asleep in each others’ arms. The crowd reacted like they were watching it live on a reality TV show, not hearing a particularly sparse retelling. Dean let a smirk grace his face, pretended any omitted details were for privacy’s sake and not because the story had so few details to begin with.

            From there, the interview moved into questions about his album and career and what was to come. Dean kept the answers vague, saying how much he hoped to continue working with his current label to make music but he was unsure when his next album might be coming out. He played the humility card with enough heart that he felt sure it would go over well, even as he wanted to roll his eyes and tell Ben any idiot who didn’t hire back their biggest seller should be fired.

            At the end of the interview, Dean shook Ben’s hand again and was ushered back into the hands of the red-headed PA. She smiled brightly at him, told him he did a great job, and rambled through basic instructions as the second PA came back to get the microphone. Dean patted her shoulder, told her she did a great job, and got into the car with Chuck.

            They headed straight to the airport. Dean waited until he was on the plane to fall asleep, the late night and early start finally getting to him. Chuck woke him as the plane landed and Dean sleep-walked through the new airport, only half aware of where he was as his feet carried him after Chuck.

            He knew the schedule like the back of his hand so he was unsure why Chuck wanted to go through it with him again when they got into the cab. Dean closed his eyes and drifted as the words washed over him. A few hours at the hotel, on to the concert venue, sound checks, warm-ups, rest time, and out on stage. At the very least, there was no after-party in Chicago, which Dean thought must be some sort of miracle. Or an orchestrated attempt to stop him from fucking up his fake relationship.

            Chuck had to drag him out of the cab and Dean managed to basically sleep all the way into the hotel room anyways. Before his head hit the pillow, he took the time to look up Cas’ social media and send him a few mean-spirited replies. Or maybe they were flirting. Dean’s sleep-addled brain didn’t know the difference anymore, didn’t know if flirting with Cas was mean or not. But a second later, he was asleep and it didn’t seem to matter.

            Once awake, caffeinated, and at the concert venue, Dean sat on the edge of the stage scrolling through Twitter. Chuck snapped in his face and said, “Sam doesn’t want you two acting like your ten seconds away from fucking on Twitter anymore.”

            Dean nodded and watched Chuck walk away before muttering, “asshole,” under his breath.

            “I agree,” a voice said.

            Dean looked up as a young woman sat down beside him. She swung her legs out over the edge of the stage and smiled at him before offering a hand. “I’m Hailey, you’re opening act.”

            Dean stared at her for a moment. “What happened to Marvin?”

            “His wife had the baby,” she said. “I was his backup on the original tour and they called me to do this one when Marvin couldn’t commit and may I just say what a great opportunity it is to be here and I’m so grateful that you let me tag along.”

            “If you say it quieter.” Dean looked back at his phone and found he had made his way onto Cas’ profile. He didn’t remember doing that.

            Hailey leaned in closer, her shoulder bumping against his. She smelled vaguely of strawberries and a lot more like nicotine. “You miss him?” she asked.

            Dean tried to find the appropriate response but failed.

            Luckily, Hailey filled the silence. “It must be hard being away from him for so long.”

            He glanced her way, trying to gauge the direction of her words. In his experience, people only said things like that for two reasons. One, they were genuinely interested in your relationship and wanted to know how things were going long distance or, more likely, they wanted to offer you comfort if long distance was too hard.

            “It’s okay,” Dean said.

            “You two haven’t talked in a while. The fans are getting nervous.”

            Dean frowned at her. “Just because we’re not blowing up each other’s Twitter feeds doesn’t mean we’re not talking.” It was a bold-faced lie because of course they weren’t talking. Dean was still doing his best to be mad at Cas, even though there was a text from him sitting on his phone asking how the interview had gone. Dean had opened it but hadn’t replied, partly because he had no idea what to say and partly because they weren’t friends.

            “You should say something,” she said. “Ease their minds.”

            Without thinking about why, Dean shifted closer to her and turned his phone to the selfie camera. He almost told her to smile, but she already was, so he took the picture while flashing a peace sign with his free hand. Then he shifted away from her, typing out a caption.

            “What are you saying?”

            “Just that I’m excited for the concert tonight.”

            “Nothing to Cas?”

            “He’ll see it.”

            Dean felt a stunning wave of relief when Chuck called him over to the side of the stage. With one last, half-hearted smile at Hailey, he got to his feet and wandered over. For the next few hours, he was lost in the world of sound-checks and vocal warm-ups. True, arguing with Chuck over whether or not he should be allowed to sit down during rehearsal wasn’t an approved vocal warm-up, but it worked all the same.

            He took a nap in his dressing room before the concert, and got up significantly bed-rumpled. He threw on a leather jacket over his wrinkled tee and headed towards the mic check. Hailey was already there, shimmering in a tight-fitting gold dress that skimmed just a little too short on the back of her thigh.

            “Careful out there,” Dean said, “or you’ll be giving the audience a show.”

            She smiled over her shoulder and, for the first time, Dean realized that smile was all fangs. “That’s the plan.” She winked.

            Dean shook his head as she walked onstage to face the screaming crowd. He could hear her shouting back, but not her words. Most likely, it was a litany of all the usual things: love for the city, _let me hear some noise_ , asking the crowd how they were doing, etc. Dean knew he had another hour or so before he was expected on stage but he liked to sit close to the action, to feel the noise of the crowd and let it wash over him before he went out to face it.

            He sat down on a folding chair and picked up his phone. The notifications were all from Chuck and Sam, reminding him that he had to be at the concert or risk losing his contract. Dean sent them both back the middle finger emoji. Chuck knew he’d been at the rehearsal. Where the fuck would he have gone after that? Dean shook his head as he went back to the Instagram post he’d made earlier.

            The comments on the photo were a hundred different things at once. Several people openly accused him of cheating on Cas because he was _smiling_ next to a pretty girl and that had started a war between people who believed he was faithful and people who thought the whole thing was bullshit. One comment froze him, just for a moment, because it said _the whole thing’s fake anyways_ but Dean swallowed down his fear. Just because people were cynical assholes didn’t mean they actually knew the truth.

            Just as Hailey was finishing up her set and the crew was setting up Dean’s mic, retouching up his makeup, and going over the outfit changes, his phone chimed. He looked down mid-brush and got powder in his eye. After a few seconds of panicked scrambling, they cleaned it up, Dean rubbed his eye, and he looked at Cas’ post.

            It was stupid.

            Really stupid.

            But Dean couldn’t help but smile at the photo of Cas wrapped up in a blanket on his couch, eyes closed, a cup of hot chocolate on the coffee table in front of him. Scripts were strewn everywhere and a mess of highlighters, pens, and sticky notes plagued the space. Under the image was a simple caption: _when your boyfriend has to work but you’re already napping ;)_

A crew member held out his hand. “No phones on stage.”

            Dean looked up at him. “Give me two minutes.” He pushed off the chair, ignored the cries of people who said he was too early, and walked out onto the stage.

            For a moment, he was disoriented. The bright lights flooded down on him, blinding him, and he had to walk without seeing two feet in front of him. He remembered to count his steps as he waved at the crowd and made his way to the mic stand. Grabbing it in one hand, he steadied himself and looked out at the screaming crowd. A smile itched on his lips.

            Then, he let out a sharp whistle. The crowd fell silent.

            “I need you all to do me a little favour tonight. Is that all right?”

            The crowd screamed in response.

            Dean held up a hand for silence and slowly the noise faded until there were only one or two shouts and the general murmur that invaded all concert spaces. If he focused, Dean could hear the buzz of the equipment behind him and the heat crackling in the lights overhead.

            “My boyfriend’s being a little shit, so I need your help teaching him a lesson.”

            The crowd was overcome with hoots, hollers, and a few boos. Dean tried to stop himself from smiling, but to no avail.

            “Okay, okay,” he said, “I get it. You all want to marry me first.” He paused through the shouts and laughter. “But, here’s the thing, you help me win this fight, and we’re going to have a better time here tonight, all right? And I promise not to bring him up again unless it’s one hundred percent necessary. Deal?”

            The crowd screamed their assent.

            “Okay. I need you all to raise your middle fingers in the air!”

            To Dean’s surprise, the crowd responded without a fight. They still screamed and cheered and bounced but, through the lights, Dean could see all of them flipping him the bird. Smiling, Dean stepped right to the edge of the stage and handed his phone to one of the guards. “Take a picture of that for me, would you?”

            The guard, without any expression at all, took the phone and snapped a picture. It wasn’t half bad. The lighting was shit but, clear as day, Dean could see the entire crowd flipping the bird. He changed the filter to give it a better light and then tagged Cas, adding only the middle finger emoji as a caption. When he posted it, several phones in the crowd dinged.

            Dean walked back to the edge of the stage to give his phone to the nervous crew member, then headed back to centre stage. “You ready to rock, Chicago?” he shouted. The microphone gave a loud squeal of feedback as the crowd cheered and Dean laughed.

            True to his word, he kept Cas out of it for the rest of his show. He ran through the numbers without much thought, chatted with the crowd when his band took a break, and even sat on the edge of the stage for a little bit as he teased a girl in the audience. He sang someone happy birthday. He went through seven and a half water bottles before the final number, the only time he broke his promise.

            Normally, when he sang this song, he’d use the name of someone in the audience he had spoken to, just to get a rise out of the crowd. But tonight, he replaced the lyrics’ ambiguous pet name with _Castiel_ and barely made it through the rest of the song as the screaming overwhelmed him. He couldn’t keep the smile off his face, even as his back dripped with sweat and his voice cracked. As the song finished, he took a bow and backed through the curtains.

            Chuck threw a towel at him. He was given more water and a chance to sit down as the audience screamed. He watched the timer on Chuck’s phone tick down, knowing the crowd wouldn’t shut up before it went off. That was the rule: if they screamed for five minutes straight, Dean went back out for the encore. If they shut the hell up, Dean was allowed to go home early.

            They never shut the hell up.

            Five minutes and a water bottle and a half later, Dean stepped back out onto the stage. He waved to the crowd, blew them kisses, and waited for the music to start up. When it did, he almost dropped the mic and walked away again. He shot a glare to the side of the stage where Chuck stood, smiling brightly. Dean flipped him off.

            And then he proceeded to sing a song he hadn’t performed since _Kansas Panic_ broke up.

            Halfway through it, Hailey came onstage to take over the girl’s part from him – _thank god_ – and Dean took her hand and spun her. The crowd went wild as they performed. Dean half-remembered the choreography from their old concerts and Hailey was a surprisingly quick study. They performed three songs together before Dean grabbed her hand, took a bow, and headed off stage.

            “Sorry,” Chuck said as soon as Dean was backstage. The word was almost lost to the ringing of Dean’s ears.

            He took out the earplugs as the noise of the crowd died down and the amps powered down. The ringing only got louder. He rubbed his temples.

            Chuck patted him on the back. “Good news. You can sleep tonight.”

            “Bad news?”

            “The world is watching.” He handed Dean his phone.

            Cas had responded to the photo with a kissy face emoji and nothing else, but the rest of Dean’s timeline was flooded with video from the concert. No doubt the most prominent was the one where he had said Cas’ name in the middle of a song but he was surprised to find it re-tweeted onto Cas’ account with the comment, _love you too babe._

            Dean frowned at it for a long time. And then he remembered what the lyric in the song was: _and, sweetheart, I’ll love you ‘til the sun goes down, I’ll love you ‘til the cold takes over, I’ll love you ‘til we’re all dead._ He swallowed hard.

            “Don’t look so scared,” Chuck said. “It’s not like you actually have to marry the guy.”

            Dean forced a smile but said nothing. His stomach felt uneasy like he had just given something big away, even though it was just a song, not even one he’d written himself, and Cas’ name had all been part of their stupid plan. It meant nothing. Cas knew that, knew that they were playing a game, and yet Dean still felt like he’d confessed a real love for the first time onstage in front of hundreds of thousands of people.

            Acting on pure instinct and post-concert high, Dean texted Cas: _I don’t actually love you_.

            Then he spent the entire ride back to the hotel wishing there was a way to un-send text messages. He vaguely entertained the idea of giving Charlie a call and asking her to delete the text off Cas’ phone but he wasn’t sure if she’d do it or not. More seriously, he considered the possibility of going on CraigsList and paying someone a lot of money to break into Cas’ home and steal his phone. Dean just couldn’t guarantee he’d find a psycho on CraigsList fast enough for Cas not to see the text and then he’d have stolen his phone for nothing.

            Not for the first time, but more fervently than ever before, Dean was glad for hotels’ back doors. He snuck through with Chuck and the rest of the crew and they made their way to their rooms in relative silence. No paparazzi, no screaming fans in the lobby, no employees who didn’t care that they could get fired for snapping pictures of him. Dean sighed as he reached his door, nodding to everyone who said goodnight to him.

            He was both surprised and not surprised when he ended up alone in the hallway with Hailey. She now wore a grey hoodie over the gold dress, her makeup streaked with sweat and her hair a wreck, but she looked prettier for it. No longer all done up, her smile felt less fake and she looked more like a real person, less like a model made up to get some asshole’s attention.

            “Can you sleep after these things?” she asked. She took a step back, her hand grazing over the door next to Dean’s.

            Dean wondered if that was really her room or if she was just pretending. “Not usually,” he said, trying for casual conversation even though his voice was rough and nearly gone. “Too much of a buzz.”

            She nodded. “I feel it. Like I’ve had five cups of coffee in the last hour.”

            Dean tried to hide his smirk. “Coffee’s your hardest drug?”

            “I’m not exactly a hardened rock star.”

            Dean fiddled with the doorknob. The key card was still in his hand and he flipped it between his fingers as he watched her, wondering what the next move should be. He heard Chuck in his head telling him to keep up the act, to keep it in his pants. Then his thoughts buzzed away from Chuck’s voice and to the woman in front of him in a short dress, watching him like she was waiting for him to make a choice.

            The words Dean wanted to say got caught in his throat.

            “Can I come in?” Hailey said suddenly. She didn’t seem nervous or even like she thought it was a risk to ask. She leaned against the wall, posture casual, eyes wide. “I hate being alone at night.”

            That was a line Dean had used a thousand times himself. He inserted the key card, opened the door and said, “You’re welcome to,” as he stepped across the threshold.


	16. Chapter 16

Cas liked being a shut-in. Other people complained about getting restless if they spent too long inside or getting bored if they had nothing to do other than lie around at home, but Cas appreciated the quiet and the downtime. When he was working, it was go, go, go. And he liked that too but if he could get away with spending a week sitting on his couch in his pajamas watching reruns of bad teen dramas, he would do it.

            Of course, this particular time, he had to at least _pretend_ to be reading the scripts Charlie kept throwing his way. But Cas found he was very adept at skimming scripts while _Gossip Girl_ played in the background and Jack kept up a running commentary on speakerphone of who he thought was an idiot and where he thought the plot was going.

            “I love Serena and Nate together,” Jack said, his voice crackling over the phone. He sounded like he was eating or slurping on something and Cas mentally counted the time difference in his head before giving up on scolding him for spoiling his dinner. “Hate Nate as a guy but he and Serena seem good for each other.”

            “Is there anyone in this show you don’t hate?” Cas flipped a page in the script on his lap and smiled. At least this one had some jokes.

            “I like Eric.”

            “Any main character?”

            “No. They’re all awful people. But that’s the point, isn’t it?”

            “You think _Gossip Girl_ has a point?”

            “Sure,” Jack said. “The whole show is based on the lavish and sinful lives of the rich elite. We feel better about ourselves for having less money or not being as pretty because we’re better people. And shows like this inspire us to be better people so we don’t wind up in jail for accidentally catering to the whims of drug dealers.”

            Cas laughed. “I don’t think it’s that deep, Jack.”

            “I’ll write you a paper on it. You’ll see.”

            Cas choked on more laughter. “Don’t write a paper on it. Do your actual homework.”

            “Once this episode is over.”

            Cas shook his head and grabbed for the remote. His TV showed sixteen minutes left in the episode, so even if their timing was a little off, Jack would be starting his homework soon. And if Kelly wanted it started earlier, she could always kick him off the living room’s big screen.

            The front door shuddered and Cas looked up. When the doorknob turned, he only half sat up, barely on alert. A second later, Charlie stepped over the threshold with a smile. “Sorry. The lock was sticky.”

            “It always is.” Cas flopped back down on the couch.

            “Are you watching _Gossip Girl_?”

            “Oooh, are you in trouble, dad?”

            Cas resisted the urge to flip off a phone screen. He sat up, closing the script in his lap and pausing the TV, then picked up the phone. “I’ve got to go, Jack. Start your homework.”

            “Can we finish the episode tonight?”

            “If it’s not too late. Goodbye, I love you.”

            “Love you too.”

            Cas dropped his phone on the table and looked up at Charlie. “I was multi-tasking,” he said, knowing that excuse would get nowhere with her.

            She sat down beside him and picked up the script he’d been skimming. From what he’d retained, it seemed entertaining and the plot wasn’t too horrible. He’d still be playing the love interest to a woman ten years younger than him and would have to find some way to make the sex scene less awkward, but he could handle it.

            Charlie tossed the script across the room. “I hate that one. The theme makes no sense.”

            Cas stared at her. He definitely hadn’t retained enough of the plot to know what the theme was, not that he ever fully grasped the theme of any Hollywood rom-com he’d had the displeasure of reading.

            “Try this one.” She dug through a few scripts stacked on the coffee table and handed one to Cas.

            It was titled _Dreaded Darkness_. Cas cocked an eyebrow. “A horror movie?”

            “It’s good.”

            Cas gave her a doubtful look but flipped to the first page. As he started reading, his heartbeat picked up, and by the end of the initial sequence, he found his interest piqued. A hard task given that most horror movies started exactly the same – a massacre of people that would never be seen again. But when Cas flipped the page, he found that wasn’t the case. The script was written out of chronological order, starting with the climax and working backwards through the lives of the characters and the mistakes that they made.

            He was twenty pages in when he asked, “Who do they want me to play?”

            Charlie looked up from her phone. “Michael.”

            He shot her a look. “That’s the lead.”

            “I know.” She tried to hide her smile but didn’t quite manage it. “Being Dean’s boyfriend has its perks.” Then she added, with a shrug, “They still want to see you audition, make sure you’ve got chemistry with whoever else they hire, blah, blah, blah, but I think it’s in the bag.”

            Cas chewed on his bottom lip. “Horror movies always flop.”

            “Horror movies get nominated for Oscars now. Don’t underes... _shit_.” Charlie sat up straight suddenly.

            Cas continued to look at her out of the corner of his eye, half-leaning against the couch’s armrest. “What? They rescinded the offer?”

            She shook her head as she tapped away on her phone. Cas let the silence last, watched her with one eye while he tried to read with the other. By the time she spoke again, he was three pages further along.

            “Dean’s MIA.”

            Cas frowned. “Didn’t he just have a concert last night?”

            “Yes. But he’s supposed to be at a meet-and-greet and Sam can’t find him and Chuck’s not replying...”

            Cas felt his heart skip an involuntary beat. He remembered what Dean had told him, all the little things he had trusted him with, and bit his tongue to stop from blurting it all out. After all, spilling the guy’s secrets wasn’t any way to get back on his good side. And while their long-distance flirting had been going well, Dean was still the one who had banished him to Michigan.

            “Where is he?” Cas said.

            “Hmm... oh, just a few minutes...” Charlie muttered as she typed.

            “A few minutes?”

            “He’s staying at a hotel downtown. The... umm...”

            “Radisson. It’s the only fancy one here.” Cas was already moving as he spoke. He went straight for the front door, grabbed his wallet and keys off the front table, and threw on a jacket. “Where’s the meet-and-greet?”

            “Downtown.” Charlie finally looked up. “Where the fuck are you going?”

            “To make sure he does his job.” Cas shut the door behind him, hoping that excuse would stop Charlie from following after him. He used his anger as a weapon often enough to use it as cover in times of real crisis. As he walked towards his car, he sent Dean a text asking where he was and got the reply that he was at the Radisson, complete with a room number.

            Cas drove over and headed up to the room without speaking to any employees. The bodyguards posted on Dean’s floor let him past without a word – thank god they recognized him – and Cas knocked on the door to Dean’s room.

            It swung open. Dean stared at him. He looked impeccable which Cas wasn’t expecting. He thought maybe these panic attacks would make Dean freeze or give up or maybe that he’d just put on a better show for the people he was lying to. But no, Dean was dressed, shaved, and freshly showered. He even looked bright-eyed and well-rested, like the concert last night had had no effect on him at all.

            “Can I come in?” Cas said.

            Dean stepped away from the door, then turned back into the room and took a seat on the end of the bed without a word. Cas considered that an invitation. He closed the door gently and then hesitated before making his way further into the room.

            “Are you okay?”

            Dean shook his head. He rubbed the back of his neck.

            Cas squatted down in front of him, trying to meet his eyes, but Dean wouldn’t look at him. Cas felt his own heart rate speed up but he swallowed down the nerves. He had no idea what he was doing. He’d never dealt with one of Dean’s panic attacks before. He had no clue what strategies Dean used other than avoidance. And avoidance wasn’t an option here. Dean’s label had been very clear – one missed event and he was out.

            “I know this isn’t helpful,” Cas began, keeping his voice slow and steady, “but you need to go to this meet-and-greet. If you don’t, you will lose your job and I will lose mine.”

            Dean let out a bitter laugh. “But no pressure.”

            Cas tried to smile but felt the expression stiffen his cheeks. He licked his lips. “Chuck is waiting for you at the venue. You will not be alone out there.”

            “I will.” Dean’s voice cracked and he swallowed hard, shaking his head. “I will because Chuck shows up for ten seconds, makes sure I’m there, and then bails until the thing is over. And—”

            “You have security.”

            Dean shook his head. He closed his eyes tight and his thighs shook.

            On a whim, Cas reached out and pressed down on Dean’s knee. He stilled, just barely. Cas brushed his thumb over the rough fabric of his jeans, breathing slowly to calm himself as Dean spiralled deeper. “I will be there,” he said, not even knowing what words he was going to say until they were out.

            Dean opened his eyes and stared at him. “What?”

            “I’ll be there,” Cas said. “I’ll come with you and I’ll stay and I’ll even sit at the damn table with you, if you want me to. Okay?”

            “How the fuck will we spin that?”

            “We’re inseparable, remember?” Cas’ felt the smile slip onto his face all on its own. “Can’t even last twenty-four hours without each other. And now, after more than a week, we’re in the same city? Who would expect us to waste a minute of it not in the same room?”

            Dean chuckled. “You’ll have to deal with a lot of angry girls.”

            “I can handle twelve year olds.”

            Voice softening, Dean said, “You’d really do that for me?”

            Cas nodded. “I swear on my life. If you go to this meet-and-greet, I will not leave your side. Not even for a second.”

            Dean let out a heavy breath. “Let’s go, then.”

            Cas tried not to show his shock and stepped back as Dean got to his feet. In seconds, they were out of the hotel room and heading down to the lobby. A car was waiting out front when they stepped outside and they slipped into the back of it. It started off without a word.

            In the silence, Cas stared out the window of the car as his home town brushed by. The brick buildings and cheery windows were far from L.A. fame but they felt better than the bright lights and flashing cameras he’d started to get used to.

            When they neared the venue, Dean reached over and curled his fingers through Cas’. Cas glanced at him but he was looking out the window towards the mass of fans trying to push their way through a double door. Cas squeezed his hand. The words, if there were any, got lost in the sudden screams as people caught sight of the car pulling up. Fans pressed up against the barriers, tried to lean over the reaching security guards, and very nearly mauled each other.

            The scene was almost horrific, fit for a horror movie. Cas felt himself gripping Dean’s fingers tighter as he tried to focus. Admitting the whole thing was horrifying would be far from comforting, so he forced a neutral expression and said, “Seems like a nice crowd.”

            “Seems like a mob,” Dean muttered.

            “I’m right here.”

            Dean gave Cas a look that he couldn’t quite parse. There was curiosity in it, a bit of doubt, and something else wholly unrecognizable. Cas tried to smile in response as the car pulled around the back of the building. A man wearing a yellow SECURITY shirt opened the back door and grabbed Dean by the arm, pulling him out. Then he grabbed Cas too.

            They were jostled along a line of security guards, all complete with yellow shirts and headsets. Somewhere beyond them, people screamed and pushed. Cas lost his hold on Dean early but, soon enough, they were inside an air-conditioned concrete building and the door was closed behind them. A woman in a power suit and a headset gestured for them to follow her as she started down the hall.

            Cas reached for Dean again and was grabbed, fingers twisting together so tight he felt his circulation cut off. His heart rate sped up as he looked at Dean and he wondered if fear was contagious, if Dean’s nerves had transferred onto him. But looking at the other man as he moved forward, Cas realized his fear wasn’t of the crowd outside, but for Dean. He wanted, more than anything, to get Dean out of this. But all he could do was get him through it.

            They met up with Chuck in front of a big metal door. He looked up from his phone with a bored expression and said, “Look who decided to show up.” Then his eyes flicked to Cas. “At least someone here can handle you.”

            Cas swallowed the fury burning in his throat as Dean gave a lazy grin. “You know me,” Dean said, “always willing to get up for some dick.”

            Chuck shook his head. “Keep it PG, alright? It’s a young crowd. I’ll get you in three hours.” And he walked off, just as Dean had predicted.

            Dean’s poker face was in full swing now as his smile settled into something more fan-worthy. The grip on Cas’ hand loosened and Dean rolled his shoulders. With his patented calm, he looked back at the woman in the suit and said, “Let’s get this show on the road.”

            She opened the door.

            The crowd yawned out in front of them, swarming the empty space. Their conversations and arguments filled the room, so loud Cas thought he should have brought earplugs. Then Dean stepped out and the sound doubled, tripled, as people screamed. Signs emerged from the crowd, along with posters and albums being flung into the air. Cas stood frozen to the spot before remembering he promised he wouldn’t leave Dean’s side. He stepped out into the noise.

            If possible, things got louder. Dean reached back for him and Cas took his hand like a lifeline, waiting for the grounding to go into effect but it didn’t. Under his fingers was just another sweaty palm, another shaking man, someone else who had no idea what to do in the face of such fervor. They made their way over to a folding table that had three metal chairs set up behind it and Cas plunked down. Dean took his seat carefully, taking his time. He opened the water bottle in front of him and took a sip.

            A man in a headset stepped forward and said, “Can we start?”

            Dean nodded and the man walked away to open up the front of the line. A girl, no older than Claire, stepped forward with a nervous smile and an almost life-sized poster of Dean. At first, she only responded to his questions and then, without prompting, started rambling about how much she loved him and how important he was to her. Cas couldn’t help smiling and he felt Dean relax at his side. As more nervous girls and serious music fans came forward, Dean’s laughter softened and his words came easier. Cas barely felt needed.

            After an hour, they took a break and headed back into the concrete hallway. “Feeling better?” Cas asked.

            Dean nodded. A small smile graced his lips as he caught Cas’ eye. “Thanks for doing this.”

            “Any time.”

            Dean snorted. “You want to come to the next one? I think it’s somewhere in the Midwest.”

            Cas smiled at him because they both knew he couldn’t commit to that, as much as he might want to. He sipped from his water bottle instead and glanced at the door as if he could see through it. “You’re not going to get through everyone, are you?”

            “Never do.”

            “Didn’t they pay to get in?”

            Dean shrugged. “They know it’s a possibility. And they can get their money back.”

            “They seem nice.”

            “It’s only been an hour.”

            Cas raised an eyebrow at that ominous comment but Dean looked away and glugged half his water bottle. Then, with a sigh, he pushed through the door again and Cas followed him out. The screams weren’t as loud this time, possibly because the crowd was finally exhausted, likely because they’d already seen them. Maybe it was because they no longer looked their best. A patch of sweat had bled through Dean’s button down just below his neck and his hair looked rumpled as if he’d been brushing his hands through it, but Cas couldn’t remember him doing so.

            The fans kept coming. Cas started to see what Dean meant about it having only been the first hour. As the die-hards bled out, leaving only those who had arrived an appropriate time before the event instead of camping out by the door, the interactions got stiffer. A few people questioned Dean’s musical taste – either insulting _Kansas Panic_ or the style decisions on his latest album – and others had open disdain for Cas being there, even if they never said a word.

            Dean’s smile stretched, strained at the edges. His voice got rougher and his laugh uneasy. Cas shifted his chair closer but couldn’t find a moment to ask what he wanted to, to check in and make sure everything was still all right. And then, after a particularly large and dangerous man made a salacious comment about how Dean looked, Cas slipped his hand over Dean’s knee. He squeezed once and Dean’s hand came down over his.

            Dean simply smiled at the commenter and said, “Careful. You’ll make my boyfriend mad.” Then he shot a pointed look to the man hurrying the interactions along and the large man was ushered away from the table.

            Cas motioned for the event coordinator to wait a moment and focused his attention on Dean. He thought he’d been beside him the whole time, watching, but when he looked Dean head on, he realized he had been paying more attention to the crowd. A bead of sweat dripped down Dean’s temple and Cas brushed it away. He let his palm land against Dean’s cheek, caressed the side of his face.

            “Are you okay?” he asked.

            Dean nodded but his eyes fell closed.

            “Should we take a break?”

            He shook his head.

            “You’re doing great,” Cas whispered. And then, before he could think better of it, he dipped down and pressed his lips to Dean’s. It was barely a kiss, more of a brush, but Dean’s eyes popped open with surprise. Cas forced a smile. “We’re more than halfway there.”

            A smile itched at Dean’s lips. “You’re such a dork,” he whispered.

            “I know.” Cas let his hand drop from Dean’s face. “But you love it.”

            Dean’s eyes shone and he licked his lower lip but said nothing. When he shifted to face the crowd again, Cas started to pull back, but Dean held his hand against his knee. Slowly, Dean’s hand moved away but Cas kept his hand there, steady, weighted. And as the crowd surged forward once again, he made sure to keep looking at Dean even as person after person rushed up to them.


	17. Chapter 17

“Should I be jealous?”

            Cas shot him a weird look as he went into the kitchen. “Why?”

            Dean held up the script even though Cas had already left the room. “Your love interest is a dude.” He hoped the words felt light and teasing, not heavy. He leaned back into Cas’ threadbare couch and threw his feet up on the coffee table. “What if he’s hotter than me?”

            Cas walked back into the living room laughing. He held two beer bottles and offered one to Dean. “That’d be difficult.”

            As Dean took the bottle, he hooked his leg behind Cas to stop him from walking away. He raised an eyebrow. “Difficult, huh?” He sat up a little straighter even as Cas rolled his eyes. He could see the smile playing at the other man’s lips. If he wanted to, Cas could step over Dean’s leg and sit down with little trouble. But he stayed put, so Dean asked, “How difficult?”

            “Who do you think a small budget indie film can afford to hire?” Cas said. “Brad Pitt?”

            Dean snorted in derision. “I’m hotter than Brad Pitt.” He shifted forward on the couch, tilted his head up to meet Cas’ eyes. “Come on. Tell me. Who would they have to hire to find someone hotter than me?”

            Cas’ cheeks went red as he looked away. Dean watched as his whole body tensed and blushed. Words stammered out of Cas’ mouth but all of them were backtracking, none of them a name, so Dean reached forward and hooked his fingers under Cas’ waistband. He pulled him forward a step.

            “Who should I be jealous of, Cas?” He infused every word with honey and softness.

            Cas met his eyes, his expression hard to read but sparkling. Whatever he was thinking, whatever he wanted to say in response, Dean at least knew that Cas felt the sudden heat in the room too. His eyes dipped down to Dean’s lips and Dean licked them in response, felt his heartbeat pick up speed. One pull, one small motion, and he’d have Cas on top of him.

            “Dean...” Cas scolded.

            Dean let go of him and slumped back into the couch. His head hit the armrest hard and he winced, but brushed it off with a, “You’re no fun.” He picked up the script again, flipping to the next page as the sex scene continued, Michael and Gabe falling into a fictional bed. But Dean could so easily picture it as him and Cas, as Cas and someone else.

            He tossed the script aside. Cas sat just beyond the reach of his feet, sipping his beer as he flicked through channels on the TV. Dean could hear the static buzz of the surround sound but no words. “You can turn that up, you know,” he said.

            Cas shot him a smile. “I know. But I want you to read.”

            “It’s great.” Dean sat up straight and felt the distance between them like a shot to the heart. He tried to swallow down the painful feeling but couldn’t help it. After the meet-and-greet that afternoon, he felt an unbearable rush of affection for Cas. Those events were noisy and too warm and emotionally draining. And Cas had sat beside him the whole time, checked in on him, touched him, _kissed_ him, just because he’d admitted that sometimes the meet-and-greets freaked him out.

            “What?” Cas said.

            Dean realized he was staring. Looking away quickly, he coughed into his fist and shook his head. “Nothing,” he mumbled but felt the heat rise to his cheeks. He tried to summon anger at the fact that Cas was so hard to flirt with, so difficult to get into bed. He was sure he could fuck the affection out of his system if only Cas gave him the chance.

            He felt awkward as Cas turned up the volume on the TV. The small space left little room to be alone, even though the layout wasn’t that different from his own house. Sure, the kitchen was on the other side of the living room and there wasn’t a guest bedroom or a hot tub, but Dean recognized the layout like the back of his hand. It was a simple townhouse – living room, kitchen, two bathrooms, big bedroom upstairs – and Dean felt simultaneously at home and claustrophobic. All the shades of brown didn’t help.

            Cas laughed and Dean snapped to attention. Cas offered his phone.

            Dean took it and looked at the Twitter poll. “Is this yours?”

            “Charlie tweeted it.” He shifted closer. “She said it’s a big enough debate with the fans that we might as well settle it.”

            Dean shook his head. “Do we really need a ship name?”

            “Why not? All the big couples do.” He reached over and clicked on the poll results button. Destiel was the front runner by a landslide, followed by DeanCas, and then, in last place, Winvak. “Looks like Sam’s file guessed it.”

            “Winvak sounds like a vacuum cleaner,” Dean said.

            Cas nodded. “Maybe we should keep that in mind for retirement.”

            “A vacuum cleaner empire?”

            “It’s only the next logical step in our relationship.”

            Dean’s heart skipped a beat as he looked into Cas’ smiling face. Then, he shut his heart down and looked back at the phone. He felt shaky all over, like someone had punched the breath out of him or he’d said something stupid on live television. He wondered how obvious it was on his face, how much Cas could tell just from the way he looked at him.

            “Hey,” Cas said, “can I say something?”

            “Sure.”

            He pulled the phone away and Dean was once again forced to look him in the eye. Why did he have to sit so close? Their thighs pressed together and Dean could feel the faintest hint of Cas’ breath on his face.

            “I wanted to apologize.” Cas took a deep breath. “I’m sorry that I thought you would lie about your parents’ deaths. I’m sorry that I believed what it said in some stupid file rather than what you told me. I know you’re not the person that the tabloids make you out to be. You’re better than that and I should have trusted you.”

            Dean shrugged uncomfortably. He shifted away. “You don’t know me that well. I could have been lying.”

            “Who would lie about that?” Cas said. “It was stupid of me to even think you would be that cold.”

            Dean said nothing, just stared at his feet. Cas’ hand came down on his knee again, warm and steady, and Dean just about swallowed his tongue. Then, he berated himself for having a reaction to a hand on his knee. He was Dean Winchester, playboy rock star, not some teenager with his first crush.

            “Please accept my apology.”

            Dean met Cas’ eyes. “You more than made up for it today.”

            Cas smiled, just at the edge of his mouth.

            Dean wanted to kiss him more than he could remember wanting anything else in his life. In that moment, the most important thing seemed to be the possibility of pressing their lips together and going no further. He almost leaned in. He almost reached for it.

            “I should go to bed,” Cas said, shifting back. His fingers slipped off Dean’s knee.

             “Yeah, sure.”

            “You’re off in the morning?” Cas stood up.

            “Yeah. Seven a.m. flight to Tacoma.” He forced a smile and scratched the back of his neck. “Good night.”

            Cas hesitated. “There’s only one bedroom. You can have it, if you want.”

            “It’s your house.”

            “You have a flight in the morning.”

            “So do you.”

            “Not until noon. I can sleep on the couch.”

            Dean felt his jaw clench around the worst idea he had ever had. Then, he let the words out anyways. “We could share.”

            Cas’ expression went totally blank. Dean didn’t know how to read that expression. Had he been too forward and Cas was panicking? Had the suggestion seemed casual but Cas had panicked anyways? Did Cas just not want to sleep in the same bed?

            “We’ve done it before.”

            “We were drunk.”

            “And now we both need to be well-rested in the morning.” Dean shrugged and got to his feet. “I don’t see the big deal.”

            “My bed’s not as big as yours.”

            Dean smiled, just a little. Somehow, this part came easy to him as he took a step forward. “What?” He flicked a strand of hair off Cas’ forehead. “You afraid of a little cuddling?”

            Cas shook his head, swallowing down a laugh. “We’re not cuddling.”

            “You have an audition tomorrow,” Dean said. “Don’t ruin it because you think you’ll be overwhelmed by desire for me if we share a bed.”

            Shaking his head, Cas said, “We can share the damn bed if you shut the hell up.”

            Dean mimed zipping his lips closed and then followed Cas up to his bedroom. He’d left his bag at the hotel, not thinking he’d be following Cas home after the meet-and-greet but glad he had. Cas offered him a shirt to sleep in and some boxers – when Dean raised an eyebrow at that, Cas said, “They’re brand new.” – and Dean used a new toothbrush he found in a drawer. As he walked back into the bedroom, Cas was already settling under the covers, pillows propped up behind his back.

            Dean leaned against the doorframe. “That’s my side of the bed.”

            Cas smiled at him. “My house, my rules.”

            “You slept fine on the other side at my place.”

            “I passed out.”

            “Yeah, you did.” Dean started towards the empty side of the bed. As he tucked himself under the covers, he added, “Fucking lightweight.”

            “Lightweight? We did like ten shots each.”

            Dean smiled at him and his eyes dipped to Cas’ lips. He wished fervently that they had the kind of relationship where he could just lean forward and kiss that smile off his face, kiss away the argument. Their feet brushed under the covers and Dean pulled his leg back too quick, even though their eye contact never faltered.

            “You should stay at my place,” Dean said, “in L.A.”

            “I already booked a hotel.”

            “Cancel it.” He slipped down under the covers and adjusted the pillow under his head. Staring at the ceiling suddenly felt much safer than looking at Cas. “We’re supposed to be living together anyways, so you might as well make it your own while I’m away. Plus, if you get the part, it’s a lot closer to the studio than any hotel will be.”

            Cas was quiet for a moment. The only sound was the shifting of covers, the bunching of pillows, and the soft hum of the heater kicking in. The lamp clicked and the soft glow went out, hiding them both in darkness. “Thanks, Dean.”


	18. Chapter 18

Cas woke thoroughly entangled in Dean. For a moment, he didn’t panic. All there was, was soft morning light, the heat of another body behind his own, and warm breath on the back of his neck. An arm that wasn’t his own curled under his head, supporting his neck, and another arm was wrapped loosely around his waist. The weight of another body held him down, anchored him in the soft start of the morning.

            Cas shifted a bit and felt the sweat slicked between their bodies. Bare skin grazed his back, along with the soft cotton of a t-shirt. As he moved, the arm around his middle tightened, pulling him closer. Cas felt morning wood press into his back and moaned, just a little, the sound half a yawn.

            Another voice moaned in return and a small kiss landed on the back of his neck.

            First, Cas realized he had fallen asleep with Dean in his bed.

            Second, Cas realized he was painfully hard.

            Third, he realized that with the sun up so high, Dean had missed his flight and Cas was probably on the verge of missing his own.

            Cas cursed. He tried to shift away from Dean but that only made the other man hold him tighter. “Dean, we have to get up,” Cas said. He pulled away enough to turn around but, even sleepy, Dean was strong and held him tight. His arm slipped away from Cas’ head and he put his hand over Cas’ mouth as Cas tried to say, “It’s late. We’re missing our flights.” It came out as a garbled mess.

            “Shh,” Dean murmured. His face was so close that Cas felt his breath against his face. Dean’s leg threaded between his, pulling their bodies flush and Cas let out an involuntary whine. A teasing smile spread across Dean’s face. “There are better things to do in the morning.”

            “Dean—”

            As soon as the word was out, Cas felt wet lips just missing his own. He tried to turn away from it, but Dean’s hand caught his chin and the next kiss hit home. His lips were strong and soft, even half-asleep. His tongue crept into the kiss. His breath smelled like morning, stale and hot, but Cas felt himself lean into the kiss all the same.

            Kissing Dean sober was everything and nothing like kissing him drunk. Now, Cas could feel every movement of Dean’s lips against his, every lazy finger trailing its way down his chest. When he pushed back into the kiss, Dean guided him slowly, carefully, keeping one hand on his chin to direct every movement. Cas felt his whole body buzzing as they pressed close to each other, his erection pressed into Dean’s thigh and Dean’s erection tight against his stomach.

            He whined as Dean pulled out of the kiss and only managed to open his eyes when he realized the other man had stilled. Green eyes stared back at him, shocked and maybe a little appalled. Cas felt his stomach drop.

             “Dean—” Cas began.

            “Shit. I’m so sorry,” Dean said. He pulled his hand back and wiped it across his lips. “I thought... I was... shit.” He moved back fast and rolled into a sitting position on the side of the bed, dropping his head into his hands.

            Cas stared at his curved back as he fought to get his breath back. He felt like the last of his brain cells had died at some point between going to bed last night and kissing Dean this morning. It took him an embarrassingly long time to figure out what Dean was apologizing for. It took even longer for him to get his tongue to work without Dean’s direction, to have his jaw move without feeling sore.

            “It’s fine,” Cas said. His voice rumbled, throat dry, and he saw Dean tense. “I was, umm, there too.”

            Dean let out a half-hearted chuckle. “I’m used to waking up with people I can kiss.”

            “You can kiss me.” Cas immediately regretted the response. “I mean, we have kissed. We can kiss. It’s not—”

            “There are no cameras in your bedroom, Cas.”

            Cas sighed and forced himself to sit up. Adrenaline still rushed through his veins and his erection had not faltered despite his overwhelming embarrassment. But he forced himself to stay calm as he reached for his phone and checked the time. Just after eleven in the morning. He rubbed his eyes. “I have to run to catch my flight but we can book you—”

            “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just get the company jet to give me a ride.”

            Cas glanced over but it was hard to tell if Dean was joking from behind. “Okay...” Cas said as he looked back at his phone, mentally calculating how fast he had to move to still make his flight. If the airport wasn’t busy, he might make it before the cut-off, but he’d have to pull some strings to do it.

            Then a voice cut through his panic, issuing an all-new kind of panic. “Are you still asleep, Cas?” The doorknob rattled and Cas didn’t even have the time to shift, let alone move, before Charlie stepped into the room, saying, “We should have been at the airport...” The words died on her lips.

            Cas held out a hand like that alone would stop her. “It’s not what it looks like.”

            Charlie blinked.

            Cas tried to gauge how bad it looked. He and Dean were in bed together: bad. They were almost fully dressed: good. He probably looked like he’d been recently fucked: bad. Dean was sitting on the opposite side of the bed, curled over his phone: good. His erection still hadn’t gone down: bad.

            “We need to get to the airport,” she deadpanned. Her eyes shifted to Dean. “You should have been gone hours ago.”

            Dean held up his phone. “On it.”

            She took a steadying breath and stepped into the room. With practiced calm, she grabbed the bag Cas had packed last night and said, “I expect you dressed and downstairs in the next five minutes.” She slammed the door as she left.

            Even the hum of the radiator seemed to have gone silent.

            Then, Dean laughed.

            And Cas couldn’t help it, he laughed too.

            “Thank god she didn’t come in any earlier.” Dean’s weight shifted off the bed as he got to his feet. “She would have fucking killed us.”

            “You,” Cas said as he rolled out of bed. He pulled off his t-shirt and headed for the dresser. “Me, she needs. You, she would have killed.”

            Dean chuckled.

            Cas glanced over his shoulder to see him putting back on the same clothes he’d worn yesterday and said, “You can borrow a shirt, if you want.”

            Dean looked at him. “Got anything the press would recognize?”

            Cas held his gaze for just a moment and then turned back to his drawers. He rummaged through the shirts for a few moments. He paused on a blue plaid button-down, his fingers scrunching the fabric for just a moment before he picked it up and tossed it to Dean. Then he pulled out a shirt for himself and started to button it.

            Fully dressed, he stepped into the en suite to brush his teeth and run a hand through his hair. As rumpled as he looked, he was still right on the line between _slept three hours_ and _recently fucked_. He hoped he could pull that off with Charlie, even though his lips were a little red and applying vast amounts of lip-chap did not help.

            “There’s a spare key in the mailbox,” Cas said. “Just lock up when you leave.”

            Dean gave him a thumbs-up as he continued to look at his phone. The shirt he’d borrowed was still half-buttoned and Cas had the insane urge to kiss him again. But he bit it back, gave a half-hearted goodbye, and headed down the stairs.

            Charlie stayed silent all the way into the car. She only said two words to the driver before slumping back into the seat and looking out the window with a hard expression on her face. Cas felt the tension in the car like a buzz across his skin. Part of him, the part that ran purely on guilt and fear, wanted to coax her out of her shell and reassure her. He only had to reiterate that nothing had happened, lead her through their logic for sharing the bed, and then redirect the conversation to the coming audition. He’d done it a million times before. And yet, he didn’t feel one hundred percent confident he could do it again. Charlie would fix him with her green-eyed glare and make him spill it all – the kiss, Dean’s flirting, how badly Cas had wanted to just give into it all – and then Charlie would barely speak to him for the rest of the day. Worse, she’d make sure he didn’t speak to Dean at all until they had to meet up again. And despite the less than warm goodbye, Cas was already itching to speak to Dean again.

            They got to the airport in record time – Cas was half sure he’d heard police sirens chasing them at one point – and they ran through the terminal. Online check-in was a dream and no checked bags made his life easier, but Cas still had to sweet talk the guard in the NEXUS line and promise him a signed picture of Dean in return for letting them cut in line. They got to the gate just as their names were being called over the intercom and scrambled to hand their tickets over.

            Cas took the seat by the window and pushed up the shade. Bright sunlight streamed in, seeming too warm for September. He placed his phone up to the glass for a picture and then posted it with the caption: _I’ll miss you Michigan <3_

Before he put his phone away, it dinged with a notification from Dean’s Instagram. Cas nearly swallowed his tongue whole. There were a few pictures in the post, each one unmistakably in his house, and a couple were candid shots of him. He looked happy even though he’d had known idea Dean had his camera out. Cas’ heart swelled with the innocence of it, the gentle affection it showed to take pictures of someone just for the hell of it.

            Then he flicked to the last picture. It was an image of him fast asleep, just a touch of orange sunlight streaming across his face, the pillows and sheets rumpled around him. The time on the clock was blurred but Cas could make it out well enough – it was four or five in the morning, right when Dean’s alarm would have gone off to get him to the airport on time. And he’d decided to go back to sleep.

            Charlie snatched his phone, turned it off, and dropped it back in his lap without a word. Cas stared at the blank screen. The image of him asleep was burned into the back of his eyelids. His stomach swirled with a sensation just short of nausea as he tried to figure out how to feel about that. Had Dean decided to go back to sleep because he’d wanted to stay? Or had he manipulated Cas all over again, waking up knowing who he was in bed with and kissing him anyways? Were the pictures a show of what their relationship had become or a carefully constructed narrative on Dean’s part, manipulating an audience that wanted them to be in love? Even having just glanced at the comments, Cas knew they were full of heart-eyed emojis and excited declarations of how cute they were together.

            “You said you wouldn’t fall for him,” Charlie said. An hour had passed in silence by now. “You told me to pull you from this if you did.”

            “I’m not—”

            “Don’t fucking lie to me.” For the first time that morning, she looked Cas right in the eye. Her glare was furious, ferocious, and her hand trembled against the seat’s armrest.

            Cas reached out and took her hand in his. Lies spotted his tongue but he swallowed them all down. “We kissed. Again. And he’s... charming, flirtatious, unafraid of anything. And I know I’m an idiot. I know he’s a player and he’s doing this for his career and I mean nothing to him but... it’s like trying not to fall in love with the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.”

            “Cas...”

            “Remember Dorothy?” Cas swallowed around the name, almost feeling bad for bringing her up, but Charlie simply nodded. “You said the moment you saw her, you loved her because she was beautiful and brimming with confidence and didn’t take shit from the world. But then you got to know her and you loved her even more, because she wasn’t as perfect as she pretended to be and all those flaws just made her more human.”

            Charlie stared at him, tears sparkling in her eyes. “You think you know him?”

            “I don’t know.” Cas pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “But every time he gives me a piece of himself, he becomes less and less that guy in the tabloids I knew I would hate. And I can’t stop my heart from making stupid decisions. I’ve tried before. I’m not strong enough.”

            She turned her palm up and threaded their fingers together. “This is a business decision,” she said evenly, “and you two need each other. But we’ve been doing this as realistically as possible and it’s just not necessary. We can keep you two apart unless it’s for an event or a staged photo-op. We can script you.”

            She swallowed hard. “Or, if you prefer, I can pull you. I know you haven’t gotten the movie yet; I know you’re not a household name yet, but I can and I will pull you from this if that is what you want.”

            Cas shook his head.

            “Then we’ll just separate you.”

            He shook his head again. He couldn’t look at her but he gripped her hand tighter. “Don’t.”

            “You asked me to tell you when you were getting too close. You’re getting too close.”

            He let out a breathless sigh. “I know.”

            And the silence fell between them again, as soft as a blanket of snow. They kept their hands intertwined as the flight made its way towards L.A. and Cas wondered idly about Dean’s flight, the private jet, and wherever he was headed. He itched to turn his phone on again, to have access to the internet, even though the very thought made him sick to his stomach, knowing Charlie was right.

            She took his phone when the plane landed. He could see it light up in her hands as she flicked through comments on the Instagram post and then hesitated. Then, as if deciding biting the bullet was better, she typed out: _missing you already <3_

            She replied to a few other social media messages, read a few of Cas’ emails, and then switched over to the texts. She was about to delete the text thread with Dean when a smile snaked up onto her lips. “Why is your last text from Dean, _I don’t actually love you_?”

            “That was right after the concert where he used my name.”

            Charlie shook her head but left the text there. She deleted the rest of the thread but left those five words there in grey and handed the phone back to Cas. “We’re doing a cleanse,” she said. “You can keep up the whole over-the-top routine if you want, but until Dean’s back in L.A., all your communication with him goes through me. Understood?”

            Cas nodded as he got to his feet. They made their way off the airplane and through the terminal, slipping into a waiting car as soon as they got outside. Cas redirected the driver to Dean’s and ignored the raised eyebrow Charlie gave him in return. She said nothing though. She was smart – he and Dean were “living together” so why wouldn’t Cas stay at the house when Dean wasn’t there?

            Luckily, there wasn’t much time between the flight landing and Cas’ audition. As he dropped his bags in the front room and went to the kitchen looking for food, Charlie whipped out the script and started quizzing him on his lines. Cas forced himself to breathe easily and reply in character. He opened the fridge to a bunch of expired takeout and berated himself for expecting anything else.

            As they walked to Starbucks for food, Charlie continued to read lines. Cas knew the script by heart and felt the character in his bones. Some stupid part of him had started to imagine himself on one of those interviews the Marvel actors always did where they said they were born to play the role. Sure, this role wasn’t a superhero, but a middle-aged man with a new boyfriend who wasn’t sure of the direction of his life. Cas felt born to play the role, even if he wouldn’t be so stupid as to buy a haunted house as a half-commitment to moving in with a boyfriend he wasn’t even sure he loved.

            “Any news on the other leads?” Cas said as they got into the car.

            Charlie shook her head. “They’re keeping it on lockdown. But I know some agents who have gotten the script and it’s not hard to extrapolate from there.”

            Cas waited for her to go on.

            She sighed. “If you must know, Balthazar is in the running.”

            “Excuse me?”

            “I didn’t want to tell you because—”

            “He’s in the running for _Michael_ , right? I’m going up _against_ him in the audition?”

            Charlie chewed on her bottom lip.

            “For fuck’s sake, Charlie.”

            “It’s a great role! And you’re going to fucking kill it.” She looked out the window as they approached the glass office building. Then, looking back at him, her voice softened. “It’s not confirmed. His agent has the script. Maybe he didn’t even like it. Very unlikely he gets the role.”

            Cas stared at her as the car came to a stop. He no longer felt full of the role. Instead, he felt completely drained, like he wasn’t even himself, let alone someone else.

            Charlie reached for his hand but Cas pulled back. “It’s not the end of the world.”

            “Right,” Cas said. He looked up at the building, mentally counting all the floors he had to go up without puking. “I’ll just make out with the guy my wife cheated on me with. Not the end of the world.”


	19. Chapter 19

Dean was ushered straight off the private jet to the concert venue. Despite that, he counted no fewer than twenty camera flashes. Since it was a bright, sunny day, he was sure there had been many other clicks he missed and he hoped the shirt Cas had given him was a good one. There was nothing like showing up late in your boyfriend’s shirt.

            The first thing the concert techs did was make him change. He made sure they knew the shirt was Cas’ and needed to be sent back as he was thrown into a threadbare Led Zeppelin t-shirt and a heavy leather jacket. Dean rolled his shoulders to get used to the weight as his vocal coach led him through several exercises.

            Then Chuck pulled him aside to go through the set list – Dean nodded along to each song choice until the encore choices. “I’m not doing that again,” he said. “It was stupid and embarrassing the first time.”

            “You and Hailey have great chemistry on stage.”

            “The fuck do you care about our chemistry? I’m with Cas, remember?”

            Chuck rolled his eyes. “The audience, mid-concert, doesn’t give a shit who you’re fucking. You two have a good energy. The crowd responds to it.”

            Dean fixed Chuck with a glare even as he thought through the argument. A touch of guilt ate away at his stomach lining, as if just singing with Hailey was some sort of betrayal. Not that singing was the least of it.

            “What else does she know?”

            “What?”

            “Songs,” Dean said. “I’ll sing with her for the encore but none of this _Kansas Panic_ shit. I want either duets off my albums or some timeless-ass classic that we both know the words to. And if she can’t figure out either, I’m doing my old solo stuff.”

            “The YouTube shit?”

            Dean nodded. He stepped away from Chuck and right into the clutches of the makeup people. He breathed through the powders and lotions, itching to stretch his legs. He knew even with the rush he had a little bit of time. Enough time to walk around the venue, test out the stage floor, memorize the position of the lights, and other meaningless trivialities that kept him from crawling out of his skin.

            He waited and breathed and let himself be passed from person to person. When they were all done, he stepped out from the back and onto the stage. He scuffed his shoes across the black floor, testing its friction. He settled himself on the green tape marking his spot and looked out into the crowd, searching for the lights above. When he called for them to go on, they shone bright, nearly blinding him.

            Breathing steadily, Dean opened his eyes again and focused on the clearest path to the audience. He wandered around the stage, testing the light and listening to the cues from the lighting tech. His heart rate had picked up but he blamed it on the heat and the layers of clothing he had on. He shrugged off the jacket and hung it over the mic stand.

            As the time of the concert drew nearer, Dean retreated to his dressing room. He sat down on the sunken red couch and picked up his duffel bag. Reaching into the outside pocket, he retrieved his phone and booted it back up. It came alive with notifications – as always – but a few of them were from tabloid apps he’d downloaded to keep tabs on his own life.

            He opened one up and saw a picture of himself being corralled towards a black car. His face was obscured by the others around him, as was most of his body, but the picture was accompanied with a blown-up, blurry shot of the shirt he was wearing. The headline read: _Dean wearing his boyfriend’s shirt??_ Dean snorted and flicked over to the next app.

            The picture here was clearer and actually showed his face. The same technique to blow up the photo had been used, along with a similar headline.

            In the last app, the picture of Dean was shown beside a picture of Cas in the same shirt. A smile tugged at Dean’s lips as he read the headline: _Shirt Scandal._ Intrigued, but also overwhelmed by the desperation of the paparazzi, Dean swiped to open the article.

            The full picture of Cas expanded to show him standing next to Kelly, who was showing off a shiny diamond ring on her finger. Dean almost swallowed his tongue as he skimmed through the article. It was an obvious puff piece, stretching its information to meet a word limit, but Dean got the gist of it. He had just stepped off a plane not only in his boyfriend’s shirt, but in the shirt his boyfriend had worn for his engagement photos with Kelly. The article went on and on about the symbolism of giving up such an important piece of his married history and what it might mean for the couple going forward.

            Dean’s brain ran towards panic but he reined it in. Everything he and Cas did was for the tabloids and this was one hell of a tabloid story. Forcing himself to breathe evenly, he sent a quick text to Cas with the article link and congratulated him on a game well played. Then he shut off his phone and stepped out of his dressing room, ready to start the concert.

 

For three days, Dean heard nothing from Cas. He tried not to let it get to him. After all, the guy was only his fake boyfriend and he was still replying to him on Twitter and Instagram, just not via text. Their fans got more and more numerous by the day; people asked when they were getting married and gushed over how cute they were together. Dean read the comments with a smile right up until the point where he started to feel like there was a pit in his stomach and then he closed the app. He did it every day.

            Events and concerts rolled by. Dean fielded questions about missing his boyfriend with a friendly smile and answers that felt more honest every day. He played the long-distance card, made up phone calls and text conversations and Skype sessions that kept him up late. Chuck kept an annoyingly close eye on him the whole time.

            One lazy afternoon, between an autograph session and the next concert, Dean lay on his bed fiddling with his phone. He opened up the window to text Cas, licked his lips, and sent a mesage.

            **Dean:** _we should do one of those cutesy text convos to post on Instagram_

**Cas:** _what?_

**Dean:** _you know, those dumb things you see on tumblr or Twitter where the couples are     being all cute and sappy so one of them posts it so the world knows how in love they are_

            **Cas:** _you want to manufacture one?_

**Dean:** _not like you ever text me anything sweet_

**Cas:** _yeah guess you can’t post dick pics on Instagram_

**Cas:** _this is stupid_

**Dean:** _you’re stupid just humour me_

**Cas:** _this seems unhealthy_

**Cas:** _and moronic_

            **Dean:** _shut up and work with me or I’m posting this_

**Cas:** _you wouldn’t_

**Dean:** _fucking watch me_

**Cas:** _it’ll blow our cover_

**Dean:** _do I look like I care_

**Dean:** _Cas, if you don’t reply I’m posting this_

**Dean:** _you have five seconds_

            Dean waited, staring at the phone screen. When he got no reply for over ten seconds, he screen-shotted the conversation and read it over for signs that he really was blowing their cover. But he could twist most of it. Only the “blowing our cover” line hinted at anything fake. Everything else just made them seem like particularly savage flirts. He blacked out the cursing and the words _dick pics_ for good measure, then uploaded it to Instagram with the caption: _@angelofthursday don’t test me._

No reply from Cas. No reply for over an hour as Dean played Candy Crush on his phone and tried not to think about all the trouble he was about to get in with his fake boyfriend. He’d almost given up on any human interaction at all when there was a knock on his door and Chuck stepped in without waiting for a reply.

            “Time to go?” Dean asked.

            Chuck shook his head. “We’ve got an hour or so.” He perched on the edge of Dean’s bed and started to stare in earnest at his feet.

            Dean watched him for a second, still propped up against the pillows. He moved his leg and just barely managed to nudge Chuck in the back with his toes. “What’s up?”

            “Look, Dean...” The words were slow and simple but Dean felt his blood run cold. Chuck turned to look at him, grey eyes serious. He licked his lips. “You haven’t been yourself on this tour and I’m... worried.”

            “The tour’s going well, isn’t it?” Dean shrugged. “I haven’t missed an event or a concert and the label seems happy. So what’s there to worry about?”

            Chuck let out a thin laugh. “You really think that’s all I care about?”

            Dean shrugged again. He had the urge to look back at his phone, to ignore Chuck’s mere presence in his room. He could do it. He’d acted like a little bitch enough in the past to pull it off now without more than the blink of an eye. But something about Chuck’s steady look and the quiet of his words made it hard for Dean to look away. He dropped his phone into his lap.

            “Are you depressed?”

            Dean laughed. “Wow. No tact at all.”

            “Dean, this is serious. If I have to take you off the tour for the sake of your mental health—”

            “I’m fine.”

            “You’re sleeping half the day, barely talking to anybody, and when I see you on your phone, you’re just staring blankly at texts Cas sent you weeks ago.”

            “I don’t do that,” Dean snapped. “And as for the other things, I don’t see how that’s any different from any of my other tours. If you’re so concerned about my mental health, than where was that concern when I was coked up and drunk all the time? Where was it when I was fucking everything that moved?”

            “You don’t have a history of mania, Dean.”

            Dean bit down on the side of his tongue to prevent himself from saying something awful. With a sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose and let his head fall back against the headboard. “I’m not depressed. I’m just bored. I have to play perfect for Cas and it’s exhausting, alright?”

            Dean couldn’t see him but he could feel Chuck staring at him. “You’d tell me if it was anything more?”

            “Of course.”

            Chuck hesitated, half-standing, and then sat back down. He clapped a hand over Dean’s knee and shook him. Dean shot him a half-hearted glare and was met with Chuck’s smirk. “Last time you were like this without falling off a cliff,” he said, “it was because you’d really fallen for a girl.”

            Dean raised an eyebrow.

            “Cas would be good for you, you know. In the long run.”

            “Fuck off.”

            “I’m just saying.” Chuck stood, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’ve seen the looks you two give each other. I’ve seen the video from TMZ...” He let out a low whistle. “If you’re worried you don’t have a chance—”

            Dean threw a pillow at him but Chuck hid deftly behind the door before he left. Sighing, Dean sunk down further into his pillow and slung his arm over his eyes. He should have just let Chuck think he was depressed.


	20. Chapter 20

Cas felt oddly at home in Dean’s house. Maybe it was the constant sunlight or the lack of cars outside, but the whole place felt like it had been plucked out a dream he’d had as a child. And even though Cas knew with every step or touch the floor could disappear beneath him, he felt himself settling in like he would spend the rest of his life under this roof.

            The more used to Dean’s place he got, the more he understood why Charlie had wanted him to do a cleanse. His phone had been confiscated. Charlie had given him a prepaid to talk to his kids and so she could keep tabs on him while she was out of town, but Dean didn’t have the number. Cas neglected to tell Charlie he’d memorized Dean’s number and could text him at any time. But that would seem too desperate – _hey Dean, Charlie took my phone so I’m secret texting you because I miss you_ – and Cas had had enough embarrassment in his lifetime.

            For days, Cas wasted time watching TV with Jack and debating college options with Claire. He waited for a call from Charlie about the audition but every time he bugged her about it, she gave the same line about how they were weighing all their options.

            Until she didn’t.

            She burst through the front door while Cas was sitting on the couch eating cereal and watching an E! interview with Dean. He turned off the TV quick but she barely noticed before shouting, “You got a callback! They want you to do chemistry reads _tomorrow_!”

            Cas jumped up from the couch with a shout and hugged her. He whirled her around, laughing, and only set her down when she started to babble about cold reads and the number of auditions set out before them and how many people he could expect to meet tomorrow. She started up the stairs as she spoke, headed for his closet to find the perfect audition clothes. Cas tried to keep up with her, tried to memorize the names of people he would meet tomorrow and what they expected of him.

            Charlie stayed late into the night going through clothing options and conversation starters before looking at the time, panicking, and telling him to get a good night’s sleep. Cas rolled his eyes as she scrambled out the front door and then did as she said. Excitement churned in his stomach, making it hard to keep his eyes closed, but eventually, he fell asleep.

            Only to wake to Charlie making a racket. Cas slipped out of bed, yawned, and got dressed in the approved outfit – a white button down and dark jeans. He stepped off the last stair and was immediately handed a very green smoothie. Charlie rubbed his shoulders as she led him over to the kitchen table where a bowl of oatmeal sat unappetizingly in one of Dean’s pink plastic bowls.

            Cas ate dutifully. He listened to Charlie without really absorbing her words. Then he slipped into the car and the silence it offered gratefully. As he closed his eyes, he ran through everything he knew about the role and the movie. He channeled his inner Michael and tried to settle into the character. When the car came to a stop, Charlie took his hand and he squeezed her fingers.

            He shook hands with all the important executives and offered his best smile. When they made bad jokes, he laughed. When they imparted the seriousness of their project, Cas swallowed down his smile. Every Hollywood executive thought they were changing the world. That was rarely the case.

            The first audition was opposite an actor Cas had worked with before. He smiled at the guy, asked a few questions about his kids, and then got into character. He thought their line read went well enough. Sure, their lines didn’t quite bounce off each other and the kiss at the end felt mechanical, but Cas thought he’d at least done a good enough job to get the role over his partner if the studio didn’t want to go with both of them.

            The second audition went similarly. The other actor flirted with Cas a bit and Cas tried to respond without getting too flustered. He felt the heat between them, that little spark that always made every movie easier, but they flubbed a few lines and had some trouble staying focused. Cas apologized to the director as he left and felt his heart sink as he only nodded in response.

            Before the third audition, there was a lull. Cas sat in the waiting room with an ice water as Charlie stepped outside to make some calls. She left her purse with him and Cas saw the edge of his phone, his _real_ phone, poking out the top. It buzzed.

            Looking around for anyone watching, Cas slipped the phone out of her purse. It was a text from Dean that didn’t make much sense so Cas replied simply. Dean’s clarification didn’t make it sound any less stupid. Biting down on the smile forming on his lips, Cas decided to flirt a little. He could delete the conversation before Charlie saw it anyways. And it was nothing if not innocent.

            Dean flirted back. Or maybe Cas imagined that he did.

            Before the conversation could end naturally, an assistant called Cas’ name. He jumped to his feet, slipping the phone back into Charlie’s purse and then taking the purse with him. He followed the assistant back into the audition room – a small-ish space complete with a plastic table, metal folding chairs, and a wide white space for movement. Cas set his stuff down on the side.

            “Nice purse, Castiel.”

            Every nerve in Cas’ body froze. He tried not to let himself stiffen, not to blow the whole thing before it even started, and slowly turned to look at the other man. Balthazar smiled back at him. His pepper-grey hair was perfectly spiked, his suit jacket open over a purple t-shirt and a pair of too-tight jeans. He looked, even now, like an aging pop star who had never learned to change his style with the trends. The look had almost worked a few years ago but now it felt as dated as the wrinkles on his face.

            Cas swallowed down the rage and forced a smile onto his face. He knew it didn’t quite reach his eyes and probably looked more like he was choking. “Balthazar,” he said, fighting to keep his voice steady. “Nice to see you’re still around.”

            “And here I was thinking the same thing.”

            Cas licked his bottom lip and picked the script up for the cold read. By now, he almost knew the lines well enough to do without but if he didn’t have the paper between him and Balthazar, he might just punch the guy. “Ready?” Cas said as calmly as he could manage.

            “Whenever you are.”

            Cas closed his eyes tight and forced himself back into character. He could already feel this becoming his worst chemistry read, the one that would truly blow his chance at getting the role. He almost didn’t care.

            “That’s all you’ve ever cared about,” Cas snapped, the words coming out too sharp. “If we’re going somewhere, if this is moving forward. Why can’t you just be happy with where we are now?”

            “Because we’re grown ass men, Michael. Not teenagers.”

            Cas tried to swallow down the rage and play the scene like he had the last two times: gently annoyed, mostly still in love. But it was no use. The words came out fiery and argumentative. “Of course we’re not teenagers anymore. But that doesn’t mean we have to be idiots who’ll marry any breathing moron just because they’re desperate to get their lives started.”

            “That’s how you see me? As a breathing moron?”

            “Of course not.” The words left his mouth on a huff and sounded anything but sincere. “You know I love you.”

            “Do I?”

            Cas stepped forward. He felt his foot shake in protest, resist the movement, but he set it down all the same. Looking up at Balthazar, he tried to force himself to sound sweet but knew the words came out sounding like poison. “I hope so.”

            Then he kissed him. He kissed the man who had stolen his wife from him. And he didn’t even bite him.

            Cas stepped out of the kiss too quick and only barely managed not to wipe his mouth after. He looked at the director, expecting to have to immediately apologize again – clearly that wasn’t what they were looking for – but everyone at the table was looking back at them with a quiet awe. Cas met every pair of eyes at the table but they all looked impressed, smug, or knowing.

            “That’s it,” the director said. He tapped his pen against the table. “You two have perfectly captured the rage behind their relationship. That desperation that pushes together people who are wrong for each other once they reach a certain age. Cas, you finally tapped into the hatred Michael feels for Gabe. And Balthazar, you nailed Gabe’s quiet complacency. Good job, you two.”

            Cas wanted to throw up. Instead, he thanked them, grabbed his stuff, and walked back into the lobby. Charlie caught him as he tried to walk past, her hand gripping his arm. “How’d it go?” she said.

            “I don’t want to talk about it.”


	21. Chapter 21

There was a break in the tour in two days. Two days. That was the mantra Dean kept repeating in his head as he was ushered from place to place, plied with makeup and coffee, and told where to stand. He hated the cameras that were suddenly everywhere – Chuck had said something about a mini-documentary, a spot they were putting together for a producer – but hated the radio hosts who had to comment on every camera at every show even more.

            Dean ran on caffeine and sleep deprivation, a perfect combination that kept him both awake and completely emotionless. When a notoriously right-wing radio host asked if he was still a practicing homosexual, Dean had barely blinked before replying, “I like to think I don’t have to practice anymore to be good at it.” Chuck had shut down the interview quickly after that.

            He kept checking his phone. It was useless. Even the Instagram post with the text messages had barely caught Cas’ attention – he had given some non-descript reply, which Dean had expected, and then hadn’t made contact to tell him off. Dean felt the cold shoulder like a hit to his gut and wished he had something, anything, to push through it. This was exactly why he fucked guys and then fucked off – because the assholes had no ability to maintain contact. Sometimes Dean felt it would be easier to just date girls.

            Before his next concert, he slept three hours. Then he stayed up playing Candy Crush on his phone for half the night while mentally trying to form an argument for why he had spent so much money refilling his lives. He started drinking coffee at six and had downed three cups before noon. The BuzzFeed interview went smoothly enough – all Dean really remembered of it was being asked if he could be trusted as a steady boyfriend. He didn’t remember his response.

            Chuck talked his ear off in the car before snapping his fingers in his face. “Are you listening to me?”

            “No.”

            A smile twitched onto Chuck’s lips. “Well, at least that seems in character.”

            Dean flipped him off. “Rehearsal, concert, after party. I have the routine down.”

            “It’s a sanctioned after party,” Chuck said, “meaning it counts as an event to the label.”

            “You think I’m going to miss a party?”

            Chuck shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re going to do anymore.”

            Shaking his head, Dean stepped out of the car. He went through rehearsal a little annoyed which at least put Chuck in a good mood. Then he took a nap before the show and was surprised to be woken up by a nervous tech assistant saying he had to be onstage in five. Dean blinked the sleep out of his eyes, grimaced through the makeup brushes, and then stepped out to face the roaring crowd.

            Halfway through the set, he sat down on the edge of the stage to drink some water. The crowd, while sufficiently riled up, seemed quiet and nervous, like they were afraid to speak to him. It warmed Dean’s heart a little – too many people felt like they could get a piece of him just by asking – and sometimes without asking.

            “Let’s read some signs,” Dean said. He took a glug out of his water bottle before craning his neck to see the sign the cameramen had focused up on the big screen. He laughed. “Look, guys, if I accepted every marriage proposal from the audience, I would have been arrested a long time ago.”

            The crowd roared with laughter and boos.

            The next sign had some lyrics from his favourite song and Dean sang a few bars before moving on. A neon orange sign had a particularly creative pun about anatomy on it and Dean laughed before the cameraman could pan away. “Come on! I like that one.” But the camera operator moved away to the next sign, a yellow one with a picture of _Kansas Panic_ on it from the early days with the words “I’ve been here since the beginning” under it. Dean pointed into the crowd and shouted, “You’re my number one fan!”

            As the crowd shouted, fighting over who was his number one fan, Dean waited for the camera to switch over to another sign. He finished his water and set the empty bottle aside.

            A red sign with a collage of photos on it took over the screen. The crowd went wild. In black construction paper letters, the sign declared “DESTIEL 4 EVER.”

            Dean smiled as he recognized some of the pictures. A lot of them were separate shots of him or Cas, but a few were from the tabloids – the kiss outside the bar, going into his house, a few candid shots from the meet-and-greet, and the coffee shop picture that had started it all.

            “That’s sweet,” Dean said, not able to find any other words.

            A clear voice from the crowd shouted, “Do you miss him?”

            Dean looked towards the voice but couldn’t see past the bright lights and the line of security guards standing at his feet. “I miss him,” he said. “I miss him more than I thought I would.”

            The crowd awwed and a few people screamed.

            “But I have three days off after this concert. So, if I’m lucky, I’ll see him in the morning.”

            Everyone screamed encouragement and Dean got to his feet. After discarding the water bottle and wiping away his sweat with a towel, he went back to his set. Even knowing it was played out by now, he used Cas’ name in the love song and listened to the crowd roar. He felt the hype of the crowd rushing through his blood and the high of the concert fading all around him as his heart sunk heavy in his chest. It was one of those odd moments where he felt on top of the world and at the bottom of a landfill at the same time.

            The concert wrapped, encore finished, and Dean changed into the label-approved outfit for the after party. He wished they’d find a better jacket for him to wear. The leather one was hot and heavy and it weighed him down in all the worst ways. He slipped into the limo and closed his eyes on the way to the party.

            Ten minutes in, Dean couldn’t find anything better to do than stare at his phone. He’d already said hello to all the important people there and traded banter with the few douchey singers the label had sent to fill out the crowd. His Twitter feed was filled with more song clips and, oddly, a blurry video of him admitting to missing Cas. Cas had retweeted that one with the words _I miss you too_ but somehow, without knowing how, Dean was sure Cas hadn’t seen the clip.

            “Still mooning over your boyfriend?”

            Dean looked up as Hailey appeared beside him. She leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. Tonight, she was covered in golden glitter that was brushed across her skin and all over her black dress, sometimes in patches, sometimes just a gentle dusting. She looked up at him with a bored, lazy expression.

            “There are other things to do here.”

            “You mean other people,” Dean said.

            She smiled. “You said it, not me.”

            Dean sighed and stuffed his phone into his back pocket. He met Hailey’s eyes and she raised one eyebrow, her expression full of questions. Dean let his eyes fall across her body, taking in her cleavage, the tight dress, the way it barely covered her ass, and he felt a twinge of interest down below. But mostly, more than he wanted to fuck her, he wanted to sleep.

            “Maybe another night.”

            She pushed off the wall and said, “At least join me in your other favourite past time.”

            Dean gave her a curious look, itching to get back to his phone. But she pulled a small plastic baggy out of her cleavage and shook the fine white powder inside. She took a step backwards. Dean followed.

            The rest of the night was a blur.


	22. Chapter 22

Cas somehow stayed awake during Charlie’s lecture about not stealing her phone. Or, he supposed, about not stealing his phone back from her in order to contact his fake boyfriend. Dean, idiot that he was, had posted the text conversation to Instagram and Cas had some very choice words for him – choice words that Charlie would not let him share. So he spent a good portion of when he should have been sleeping arguing with an imaginary, much more agreeable Dean in his head.

            He woke up late and went through his breakfast routine slowly. He wondered how much it would piss Dean off to know that he was using the blender at nearly noon now and he itched for his phone to take a picture. But he didn’t have it. He had a crappy burner and Charlie had locked him out of his social media – a fate he’d discovered late last night when he’d tried to login to Twitter on his laptop.

            He supposed he deserved that. A cleanse wasn’t really a cleanse if he could just boot up his laptop any time he wanted to relapse.

            Without any new scripts to read and his kids in school, Cas found he had nothing to do. It had never really bothered him before – the quiet monotony of nothingness, the rapid fire auditions Charlie had sent him running all over the city for – but now it had an edge of anxiousness to it, a bubbling expectation under the surface.

            The paparazzi still wandered on the edge of Dean’s property. Their cameras hung around their necks. A few of them paced, trying to look in the windows, looking for signs of life. One or two had sat down on the curb and were playing with their phones. The boy Dean had waved to at the coffee shop and singled out the other day stood perfectly still, staring at a notepad while he chewed the end of his pen.

            Cas stepped out onto the front porch. All their heads snapped up.

            Cas was somewhat aware he was only half-dressed, wearing a long t-shirt over his boxer shorts, as he settled down on the front step and sipped his coffee. The photographers glanced at each other first and then slowly started to come forward.

            The boy spoke first. “Mr. Novak, would you mind if we asked you some questions?”

            “You’re so polite,” Cas said before he could swallow the words. The boy blushed. “What’s your name?”

            “Kevin,” he said. Then he gestured to the others crowded around him, “This is Amy, James, Margo, Leland, and Barry. If you’re not in a rush, Freddie will be back with coffee in a few minutes. Do you want anything?”

            Cas held up his own coffee in response. “It’s kind of cold out here, isn’t it?”

            “It’s the wind,” Kevin said. “You get used to it.”

            Cas nodded and sipped his coffee again. Just over seventy and the front porch felt like Michigan, not L.A. The wind, apparently. He noticed, for the first time, that the photographers all had on coats and long pants. Most of their pants had zips on them and a lot of them seemed to be wearing thin t-shirts underneath, all of them ready for the temperature to change in the blink of an eye.

            “How long have you been out here?”

            “A few hours. Dean’s last concert is tonight so he could be coming home any minute.”

            “He shouldn’t be home until late tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”

            “Dean’s notorious for skipping the last concert on his tours.”

            Cas almost opened his mouth to tell them that wouldn’t happen this time but he kept it shut. No use giving the tabloids dirt they could dig up themselves. Plus, if they wanted to know about the perilous state of Dean’s career, they would be off researching that instead of waiting around to get photos of him walking through his front door.

            “What’s it like living with Dean?” one of the others asked. James, Cas thought.

            “It’s a lot like living with anyone else,” Cas said. “All my quirks piss him off, all his piss me off, and somewhere in between there’s a lot of tense silence.”

            The photographers all looked at each other uncomfortably.

            “I’m sorry,” Amy said, “are you saying you’re not happy living with Dean?”

            They all leaned in.

            Cas looked up at them curiously, watching their eyes widen and their hands get ready to write. He sipped his coffee again. “I’m not happy living here without him,” he said. “This house is like something I dreamed. It doesn’t feel real without him in it.”

            Before anyone could ask another question, a girl with short black hair ran up the walkway with two coffee carriers. The photographers dispersed to get their drinks and Cas took the opportunity to flee. As he closed the door, he heard all of them shout at him to wait but he flicked the deadbolt behind him.

            His phone buzzed on the table and Cas reached for it. He didn’t recognize the number, so he simply said, “Hello?”

            “Mr. Novak?” a squeaky voice said.

            “This is he.”

            “I’m patching you through to Alberta Jameson.”

            Cas opened his mouth to ask a hundred questions at once – _what, why, who is this_ – but swallowed them all when his phone started to ring again. He paced through the living room as he bit at the loose skin on his thumb.

            “Mr. Novak?” a calm, steady voice said.

            “Miss Jameson,” Cas replied. “To what do I owe the honour?”

            She chuckled. “It’s me who’s honoured, Mr. Novak. I’ve been watching your audition tapes and, I have to say, you are by far the most talented actor we have up for the role of Michael. You managed to play the same scene a different way with each of your scene partners. It’s truly miraculous to watch.”

            Cas sunk down into the couch. “Thank you, ma’am.”

            “Please, call me Alberta.” She paused and Cas heard the sound of keys tapping. “I would like to offer you the role of Michael officially. I can have the contracts messengered to your house or your agent’s office within the hour.”

            “I—”

            “Before you accept, I think we should talk about something else.”

            Cas felt his heart sink into his feet. “Balthazar’s already accepted the role of Gabe,” he said, not waiting for her to confirm it. On his own lips, it felt like a damning truth. But at least it acknowledged he knew what he was getting into. He swallowed hard. “I’ll still take the role.”

            “I’m glad to hear that,” she said. “We expect utmost professionalism from you both.”

            “I’ll be on my best behaviour.” Cas couldn’t quite summon his initial excitement at the offer. His voice sounded dead and flat even to his own ears. “Thank you so much for the opportunity to work on this project. I won’t let you down.”

            “Good to hear.”

            There was a long pause and Cas wondered if that was the end of the conversation. He had just opened his mouth to thank her again, to offer a tentative goodbye, when she cleared her throat. Cas waited.

            “We also understand that you’re dating Dean Winchester.”

            Cas felt his heart skip a beat from where it still resided in his toes. But also, an empty feeling invaded his stomach, like a black pit had opened up inside of him. “I am,” he said, just managing to keep the words steady.

            “We were wondering if he would be interested in the role of Michael’s one night stand.”

            Cas’ mouth stayed stubbornly closed as he stared blankly at the baby blue wall in front of him and the blank TV screen. The hole opened up wider in his chest, sucking him into it, making his head pound. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

            “Mr. Novak?”

            “I’ll ask him,” Cas responded automatically. “Is that all?”

            “That’s all.”

            “It was nice speaking to you, ma’am. Alberta. Thank you again for the opportunity.”

            He hung up the phone and then flung it across the room. The shatter jolted him out of his dark pit as the crappy phone snapped in half before falling to the floor. Cas cursed but the word held no real fire beneath it. He wanted to call Charlie and bitch about the offer, about how they only wanted him for Dean’s star power, but he knew exactly what she would say. _This is what we wanted. We’re_ supposed _to be using Dean’s star power to get you a role. They’ll realize you’re good on your own. They’ll realize you’re a force to be reckoned with._ And Cas didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want a pep talk when he could wallow in his own misery.

            So even though it was barely afternoon and the sun shone bright outside, Cas headed upstairs to roll back into bed. He booted up his computer, thankful that Charlie hadn’t changed his Netflix password too. Wrapped up in the blankets with the lights off and curtains drawn, Cas started the next season of _Orange is the New Black_ and tried to convince himself his problems were much preferable to prison.

 

Cas woke to the sound of something breaking downstairs, followed by a wild peal of laughter. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table – just past three a.m. – and groaned as an indistinguishable voice started to ramble. For a moment, Cas considered covering his head with a pillow and going back to sleep, but he thought if they were being robbed, Dean probably wouldn’t appreciate him sleeping through it.

            Cas pushed out of bed with a lot of effort and wandered sleepily to the stairs. Dean’s voice drifted upwards, his laugh softening as he told a wild story about stealing a motorcycle in Italy. Biting back a sigh, Cas started down the steps and turned into the living room.

            The sight was not pretty. Dean sat, rumpled and sweaty, in the middle of the couch. He had his phone propped up in front of him, the Periscope app open and streaming. His voice cascaded over itself and he spoke before he fully knew what words he had to say, so he backtracked a lot, changing verbs and names and details before barrelling forward again. It sounded a little like he was reciting the plot of _Roman Holiday_ and a little like half the memory was a hallucination brought on by prescription drugs.

            Cas rounded the couch, trying to catch Dean’s eye silently but with no luck. His eyes were wide and awake even though every muscle in his body was slumped and he looked ten seconds from passing out. Cas could smell the alcohol from three feet away – a weird mixture of bourbon and something sickeningly sweet, perhaps Amaretto.

            “Dean,” he said when the other man trailed off mid-story.

            Dean looked up at him suddenly, shocked, then laughed. “Cas is here! My boyfriend, Cas!”

            Cas nodded slowly, grateful that at least, even this drunk, Dean could keep up the facade. He took a step forward. “When’d you get in?”

            “Couple hours ago.” He patted the spot next to him on the couch. “Come say hi to the fans.”

            “You shouldn’t be doing this. You’re drunk.”

            Dean let out a sound that was some mix of a snort, a sneeze, and a curse word. “You’re drunk,” he replied in typical middle school fashion. “Sit down.”

            Cas glanced from Dean, to the couch, to the phone propped up on the table. He wondered if he could snatch it up before Dean moved and simply cut the stream. Probably. He couldn’t imagine Dean being all that fast in his current state. But, before Cas could decide on a course of action, his sleepy brain lagging, he stepped too close. Dean grabbed his hand and pulled him down, hard.

            Cas landed half in Dean’s lap with the other man’s arm wrapped firmly around his hips. “See? I told you guys he’s here.” Dean nodded sagely.

            Cas resisted the urge to push away from him. This close, the smell was almost overwhelming, and he could see that Dean’s pupils were blown wide. Whatever he was on, it was strong enough to keep him wide awake through a whole flight and back to his house.

            Pushing down his disgust, Cas leaned into Dean instead of away from him. He placed his lips over Dean’s ear and whispered, “You need to go to bed, darling. We have work in the morning.”

            Dean chuckled. His free hand came down on Cas’ bare thigh, rubbing a short line up and back down. “We’ll be fine,” he said. He tilted his head and landed a sloppy, but brief kiss on Cas’ lips. “The fans have questions.”

            Cas glanced at the screen. The “questions” ranged from open homophobia to in-depth inquiries about their sex life to thinly veiled attempts to get them to fuck on camera. Sighing, Cas turned his attention back to Dean and tried to get the other man’s glassy eyes to focus on him. He brushed a hand through Dean’s emerging stubble and held on to his chin.

            “We’ll answer them in the morning.”

            “You’re lying.” Dean said the words simply enough and then, opening his mouth again, he sang, “ _Why you always lyin’..._ ”

            Cas covered Dean’s lips with his hand before he could do more damage to his career with a drunken Periscope stream. Then, he leaned closer, touching their foreheads together. He forced his brain to wake up, for the gears to spin, so that he could get Dean off the couch without blowing their cover. Dean’s hand still bit into his hip, the other tickling the hem of Cas’ boxers. Despite the late hour, the smell, and his emerging panic, Cas felt the heat pool low in his stomach.

            “Please come upstairs,” Cas whispered. The idea burst to life in the stupidest part of his brain. He kissed Dean. “I’ve missed you.”

            Dean kissed him back hungrily but showed no signs of wanting to move. So out of it, he no longer had the control Cas had come to expect, but instead reacted to every cue Cas gave him. Drunk and high, Dean kissed slowly and complacently, like just the touch of a hand could give him all the direction he needed in life. Cas wished it was so simple. He wished the touch of his tongue, the press of his hand against Dean’s chest, and his resistance to being pushed backwards would snap Dean into sobriety.

            Cas broke the kiss after a long minute. Perhaps more than a minute. He held Dean back with the palm of his hand flat against his beating chest. “Upstairs,” Cas said. His voice was hoarse, strained even, but he managed to imbue it with some sense of authority. “Or not at all.”

            Dean’s eyes wandered over his face, searching for who knows what, and then he nodded. With a sigh, Cas disentangled himself and got to his feet. He picked up the phone and cut the stream. Then he turned off Dean’s phone, just as a precaution.

            From his spot on the couch, Dean looked up at him with wide eyes. His lips were red and puffy, his expression open and begging. Cas looked down at him with his breath barely back in his chest and said, “Get up.”

            Dean stumbled to his feet and Cas caught him with an arm around his waist.

            “You’re not going to keep your promise, are you?”

            “I didn’t promise anything,” Cas said as he led Dean towards the stairs. “And I’m not fucking you when you’re high off your ass and don’t have any idea what’s going on.” He started up the stairs, practically dragging Dean with him. “How the hell did you get on the plane like this? Who took you home?”

            “Chuck.”

            Cas bit back a curse. In that moment, he hated Chuck more than he hated Dean. Dumping Dean drunk and high on his own doorstep was one thing, but as a manager, Chuck should have at least confiscated his phone or made sure he got to bed or even stopped him from snorting whatever the hell he put up his nose.

            Turning into Dean’s room, Cas gently lowered him into the bed. He held him steady when he tried to roll onto his face and eventually Dean gave up, curling into a ball on his side. His eyes fluttered closed so Cas searched the room for a trash can, placed it by Dean’s pillow, and then made a move for the door.

            He thought better of it before his hand was even on the doorknob. He grabbed the blanket from the end of Dean’s bed and slumped down into the green armchair by the windows. Settling in as best he could, he snuggled under the blanket and tried to sleep.


	23. Chapter 23

Dean woke to the unforgivable noise of his alarm. He reached for the clock, hit it hard, and felt his hand touch something sticky. Opening his eyes, he saw the vomit that spilled across his bedside table, the edge of the mattress, and just barely dripped into the trash can below. Dean groaned and fought the urge to move too quickly. Slowly, he pushed himself into an upright position and tried to flick the vomit off his hand.

            In the armchair at the side of the room, Cas slept curled in on himself. His head was bent at an awkward angle and the blanket had fallen in the night, now just caught on Cas’ feet.

            Dean closed his eyes and tried to remember the night before. He remembered the sound check for the concert, doing a line of coke, and then the blurry start of his own music. He half remembered drinking something awful backstage and starting to have some real fun. Floating snippets of Chuck berating him stuck with him, along with some turbulence from the plane, and then a sensation of being inside a pit of hell while sitting in his own living room.

            Dean raised his hands to rub his eyes and remembered the vomit too late. Shutting his eyes tight, he blindly groped his way towards the bathroom and rinsed out his eyes. And his hands. And the foot he had stuck almost directly into the garbage can on the way there. He cupped water in his hands and took a long drink.

            Waking Cas didn’t seem like the right move – and Dean wanted to avoid a lecture – so he headed downstairs as quietly as he could after changing out of his concert clothes. He woke up the coffee machine, cracked some eggs, and poured himself a shot of vodka. It went down sharply but it was the only hangover cure Dean knew that actually worked.

            As he cooked, he booted his phone back up and was graced with slightly less than a hundred texts from Chuck saying he was a moron. So last night was probably not the biggest mistake he’d ever made in his career. From what he gathered, he’d drunkenly started to Periscope last night until Cas had stopped him. The video had been deleted but gifs from it still existed all over Twitter, as well as small sections of recordings from it.

            Dean watched them idly. He almost smiled while listening to himself recite _Roman Holiday_ verbatim and watched the commenters believe the story had actually happened to him. Then, Cas started to enter the clips. And then there were the gifs of them making out and Dean burned the bacon analyzing them. It didn’t seem like the other pictures. There was something soft about it, something quiet about the sleep-weary way Cas kissed. Dean didn’t remember a second of it but he wanted to.

            “It’s burning.”

            Cas’ voice made Dean jump. He set his phone down. “Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

            “Third grade insults. Nice.” Cas slipped onto a stool on the other side of the counter, yawning, and he settled his head into his hands. “I cleaned up the vomit.”

            “Thanks.”

            Dean salvaged what he could of the bacon and scooped it onto a plate. He shoved it towards Cas while he added pepper to the eggs. Cas stared at Dean’s phone, his eyes only half open.

            “Did you see Twitter this morning?”

            Cas shook his head. “Charlie took my phone.”

            Dean nodded and resisted the urge to ask how long ago. Had Cas been ignoring him or had Charlie? He glanced at Cas out of the corner of his eye, wondering, and then said, “You can look at mine, if you want.” He scooped the eggs onto another plate and slid it across the counter. “It’s really just a lot of gifs of us making out.”

            Cas groaned. “Awesome. Charlie definitely won’t kill me for that.”

            “Hey, you were saving my reputation.”

            Cas made a non-committal sound as he unlocked Dean’s phone. “I don’t see that argument working.” He sighed. “That is... a lot of tongue... Jesus...” He reached for a fork and dug into the eggs.

            Dean settled on the other side of the counter, leaning against the cool surface as he picked up a piece of bacon. He crunched half of it between his teeth. “On the bright side, very few people believe you’d make out with me when I’m that messed up if the whole thing was a sham.”

            “Silver lining.”

            Peeking over the top of his phone, Dean saw Cas pause on a video of the last few seconds of the stream. Their faces were close together, their lips red and kiss-worn. Through the crackly static of the shitty stream and the phone’s microphone, Dean heard Cas whisper, “Upstairs or not at all.”

            Dean licked his lips as his heart rate picked up. He felt heat on his cheeks but pushed it away with the words, “Did you make good on that promise?”

            “If you mean the ‘not at all’ part.” Cas’ voice grumbled with annoyance and sleep deprivation. The deep sound rumbled through Dean’s veins, making it even harder to keep the conversation somewhat on track.

            As Cas slipped out of his seat, Dean turned to follow his movement. “You can tell me the truth,” he said. “I won’t think less of you.”

            Cas snorted as he poured himself a mug of coffee. “You’re not that good a kisser.”

            “Excuse me?”

            Cas sipped his coffee.

            “Did you just say I’m not a good kisser?”

            Cas shook his head as he started back towards his seat. “I said you’re not _that_ good.”

            Dean stopped him with a hand on his chest. He met Cas’ eyes as the other man casually sipped at his coffee, his whole demeanor lazy and unaffected. “Not how good?” Dean said.

            “Not good enough to drunkenly kiss a sober person into having sex with you?”

            Dean shoved Cas with a little force and Cas took two stumbling steps backwards. Dean pressed a hand to his hip, pinning him against the refrigerator. He stepped a little too close, feeling the adrenaline rush through his veins as Cas looked up at him with an amused expression and a smug little smirk.

            “You wanna say that again?”

            Cas shrugged. “You’re really not that good.” He tried to sip his coffee again but Dean took the mug and set it aside. He pressed forward, their thighs flush, and Cas glanced down with a curious, disapproving expression. But when he looked back up, he was still just as full of shit. “I’d even say you’re probably not a good kisser at all.”

            Dean tried to look as if he was considering this wondrous piece of knowledge. Then he closed the distance between them and kissed Cas with purpose, slow and firm, but he kept it PG. He broke the kiss and raised an eyebrow.

            “Your breath is something else,” Cas said, “but your kissing—”

            Dean shut him up roughly. He pressed his other hand against Cas’ shoulder, pinning him more firmly against the fridge. It took all his self-control to keep the blood going to his brain as he carefully slid his tongue into Cas’ mouth, deepening the kiss and pressing their bodies flush. He waited until a small, rumbling groan broke out of Cas’ mouth and then disconnected their lips. He stayed close, their breath mingling in the small space between them.

            “What were you saying?”

            “That’s you’re not a good—”

            Part of Dean knew this was childish, stupid, perhaps even crossing a line. But Cas could easily tell him to stop, make any movement to push him off, and he didn’t. He kissed back with practiced passiveness. His body bucked up against Dean’s hands. Dean resisted the urge to snake the hand on his hip between them, to escalate this to something else entirely.

            But he held back. He broke the kiss again, breathing heavily. He had no idea if the gasps were his own or Cas’ as he focused on the wide blue eyes in front of him. They blurred a little, merging into one. “I’m what now?” he said.

            Cas blinked, a slow and measured reaction. “Not a good kisser.” His voice was rougher than before, deeper even. He bit his bottom lip as he looked up at Dean. “You’re probably not that good with your mouth at all.”

            Dean shifted his jaw, taking in the implication of the words, the dare Cas had just issued. He pressed closer and felt Cas half hard against his thigh. Swallowing his nerves, he met Cas’ gaze and said, “If you want to get blown, you’re gonna have to stop being so stubborn.”

            Cas stared back at him, seemingly frozen.

            “Do you want to be stubborn or do you want to get blown?”

            “Neither.”

            Dean stepped back immediately. Pressing his hand against his lips, he turned away from Cas and went back to his coffee. After a moment, he heard a deep exhale behind him and then the sound of Cas’ footsteps. The other man appeared on the other side of the counter, took his seat, and reached for the bacon. It crunched between his teeth.

            Dean resisted the urge to question him. He felt like his heart had stopped beating even as he counted the beats slowing down.

            “You were high last night,” Cas said quietly.

            “I never promised to stay sober for you.”

            Cas nodded. “We can’t do that. Drunk or sober or anywhere in between. I can’t invest myself in this.”

            “I’m not asking you to.”

            “I know.”

            Dean felt the weight of those two words like a promise he didn’t want to keep. He glugged down the rest of his coffee, ate a slice of cold bacon, and checked the time. “When’s the interview?”

            “Ninety minutes.”

            Dean took those words as a dismissal. He exited the kitchen and headed back to his bedroom, where the puke had been cleaned and the acidic scent of cleaning products filled the air. Taking his phone out, he replied to Chuck’s panicked texts with a simple _I’m alive_ and then tried to breathe through the panic and arousal that still held him in its grasp.

 

Dean sunk back into the beige couch, his arm slung loosely behind Cas. He smiled with all the ease and charm he could muster. Every once in a while, he stole a glance at Cas, who seemed oddly in his element even though he sat on the edge of the seat. Dean reached and pinched the back of Cas’ shirt, tugging him backwards just a touch. Cas shifted in response.

            “You two have been taking social media by storm,” Ruby said. She shifted the cue cards in her hands, clearly nervous. Dean didn’t blame her – her afternoon talk show was strictly B-list and here she was with them. “But this is the first time you’ve actually done an interview together. Why is that?”

            “We’ve barely been in the same city since news of our relationship broke,” Dean said.

            “And you know how overwhelming it can be,” Cas added, “all the interview offers and all you really want to do is keep things between you two, if only for a little while.”

            Dean smiled at him, trying to take in all of Cas’ confidence. He felt it like a wave coming off of the other man, something he could hold onto and embody. In all the interviews he’d ever done, he’d never felt so relaxed.

            “Then what was with that Periscope video last night?” Ruby asked.

            Cas opened his mouth to reply and then promptly shut it. He shot Dean a look out of the corner of his eye. Dean shrugged. “I’m not the one trying to keep our private life private. That’s all Cas.”

            Cas laughed. “Right. You prefer to put on a show.”

            “What’s wrong with a little show?” Dean tugged on the back of Cas’ shirt again as their eyes met. He swore a spark went off between their skin but blamed it on the static as Cas shifted back into the cushions.

            “How do you do it, Cas?”

            “Do what?”

            “Well, your boyfriend is out of the city most of the time. It’s almost impossible to keep tabs on him unless he’s at an event and, even then, there’s no guarantee he’ll be there.”

            Cas shot Ruby a weird look. “Not sure I understand.”

            “As someone whose been cheated on quite publicly, how do you trust Dean Winchester, notorious playboy?”

            The silence that invaded the crowd felt almost deafening. Dean let his eyes sweep over them for just a moment before looking back at Cas’ poker face. He held himself together so well Dean couldn’t even tell what he was thinking or what the words might be when they came out of his mouth.

            “Okay,” Cas said finally. He licked his bottom lip and his back tensed. “Let’s get something straight right now and then maybe I’ll stop having to answer this question. I trust Dean. I know him in a way that you and the tabloids and the hundreds of people who read that trash don’t. And when I come out on a set like this and you interviewers keep questioning why I would want to be with him, why I would trust him, it breaks my heart.

            “This man means the world to me. He’s sweet and he’s funny and he’s been through so much in his life but still gets up every morning with a smile on his face. He’s a household name, talented beyond my wildest dreams, and yet he still gets nervous faced with a big crowd. He doesn’t walk around pretending his name is enough to get him whatever he wants.

            “Could I spend all my time worrying about whether or not he’s cheating on me on the road? Sure. But why would I stay in a relationship where I had to do that? Why would I stick with a guy who I couldn’t trust? Dean deserves more respect than you give him.”

            Dean felt his heart swell as a warmer silence settled over the studio. Ruby stared at Cas in shock. Licking his lips, Dean pulled Cas a little closer, knowing he somehow had to break the tension. If he played it right, the editor might even cut that out before the interview aired.

            As he looked around for some distraction, he saw a tag poking out the back of Cas’ collar. He reached for it, his fingers dipping down Cas’ neck.

            Cas flinched forward fast. “What are you doing?” His voice was still a little fiery.

            “Chill, babe. Your tag’s sticking out.” Dean tucked it in, letting his fingers linger on the back of Cas’ neck. He held his gaze and did his best to impart all the things he couldn’t say – _don’t blow this, don’t defend me, keep it light and playful for the cameras_.

            Cas smiled back at him, the anger melting from his expression. “The cameras are in front of us, Dean.”

            Dean shrugged. “Saves you the embarrassment when you get up.”

            Shaking his head, smile still bright, Cas turned back to the interviewer. But instead of taking up his perch on the edge of the couch again, he leaned into Dean’s arm. Dean let his fingers trail over the expanse of his shoulder, trying to make the motion look lazy even though it sent shockwaves up his arm.

            Ruby smiled at them both. “Things are going well with you two, then?”

            “As well as they can,” Cas said.

            Dean rolled his eyes when Ruby opened her mouth to pry into that statement. He cut her off, saying, “Before you go off on that, let’s step away from the whole ‘my boyfriend’s an angel and I’m the devil’ thing.”

            “You’re not the devil,” Cas said. “More like his favourite demon.”

            A small laugh left Dean before he could swallow it. “I’m not the reason we have problems,” he said. “The reason we have problems is because Cas keeps turning on the blender at five in the morning.”

            “Don’t be dramatic. It’s six.”

            “Six _a.m_.”

            Cas smiled at him and then bit his bottom lip. Dean felt the air go out of his lungs as the other man shrugged, rustling up against his arm. “It would do you good to wake up at a decent hour.”

            “It would do you good to stay in bed longer,” Dean retorted. And then, before he could shut himself up, he added, “I could even make it worth your while.”

            Cas went beet red as the audience roared their appreciation. Cas coughed, looking away, and very quickly regained some semblance of composure. Even red and half turned away from Dean, he steadied his voice and said, “Any other questions?”

            Ruby looked between them, eyes wide. “Well, you know that we’re always excited to see what projects are coming up next for the two of you.”

            “Dean’s still on tour.” The words came out of Cas’ mouth too fast as he straightened. Dean dropped his arm from the back of his couch and trailed his fingers down the length of Cas’ spine, making him shudder as he cleared his throat. “And I’ve just accepted a role on a new movie.”

            “Interesting. Anything you can tell us about that?”

            Cas’ smile wrinkled at the edges. “Sworn to secrecy, I’m afraid. But from what I’ve read of the script and know of the casting decisions, I’m sure you’ll all be in for quite a shock.”

            Dean couldn’t help it. He kidney shocked Cas on the last word.

            Cas jumped and then turned on him with simmering anger in his eyes. Dean’s smile spread– there was still so much heat in Cas’ cheeks, so much nervousness in his movements – and, before Cas could say anything, he kissed him. Nothing showy, but a long, steady kiss before he pulled back, listening to the screaming crowd.

            To his delight, Cas smiled.


	24. Chapter 24

The second day Dean was back at the house, Cas got the contracts for _Dreaded Darkness_. He sat in the middle of the blue couch even though the springs there were starting to sink and read through each and every line. He knew Charlie had already hired a lawyer to go over the pages but he preferred to know what he was getting himself into. The money was good, the fine print seemed basic, and reshoots had even been written in with an extended bonus if it came to that.

            Still, he hesitated before signing.

            Dean was already up and bouncing between the kitchen, the living room, and upstairs. At one point, he had gone for a run but made it back inside only ten minutes later, huffing and puffing. Cas had bit back a remark about his physical fitness, mainly because Dean had immediately taken off his shirt and wiped his sweaty face with it.

            Now, he finally seemed to be settling. He slumped into an armchair and swung his feet up on the coffee table. “Does it really take you that long to read ten pages?”

            “Shouldn’t you be relaxing on your days off?” Cas countered.

            “Too much energy.” Dean dropped his feet and leaned forward. “What’s the half life of coke?”

            Cas gave him a look. “Why would I know that?”

            Dean shrugged but held his gaze for longer than normal. Cas had the urge to look away, to look down, but he could see words struggling to form on Dean’s lip. So he waited, counting the seconds in his head.

            “Are you mad at me?”

            “What?”

            “For the Periscope thing,” Dean said, “or the coming home high off my ass thing. Whatever you want to call it. Are you mad?”

            Cas shook his head and looked back at the contracts. “It’s your life, Dean.”

            “You’re in it now,” Dean said, somewhat harshly. “And your main concern at the start of this thing was that I had a drug problem so—”

            Cas threw the script down and glared at Dean, shutting him up immediately. He tried to breathe through the tension rolling into his shoulders and bit his tongue hard. “I’m annoyed that I had to deal with it. I’m annoyed that it was online and people know about it and that Kelly can use it if we ever get to a custody hearing again. I’m mad that I’m being called a hypocrite for supporting anti-drug charities my whole life but I’m apparently fine with my boyfriend’s coke habit.”

            He swallowed hard and forced himself to look away. Dean’s wide eyes were too much for him, too heavy. Cas closed his eyes. “But I’m not mad at you for doing what you always do when you’re on tour. We’re not a couple. I don’t have a say over what you do, Dean. But it does scare me to see you like that.”

            “The doctor said I didn’t have a problem.”

            “That doesn’t mean it’s healthy.” Cas glanced up at him again. He hesitated over the next words but let them out anyways. “And even though I’m not mad about the drugs, I am mad that you came home like that and you kissed me and you threw up over everything and then the next morning, you just... you acted like it was some joke.”

            Dean stared back at him and stayed silent for a long moment. “You didn’t seem to mind it in the moment.”

            Cas swallowed down any logical response to that. He pushed it to the back of his mind, tried not to remember that he’d nearly goaded Dean onto his knees. “You could have died. If you had been alone, if I wasn’t here, you could have choked on your own vomit and died. Do you understand that?”

            “Yes.”

            “Don’t die on me, Dean.” Cas looked back at the contracts and tried to blink the tears out of his eyes. “That’s all I ask.”

            A heavy silence fell over the room. Cas heard the armchair squeak in response to Dean’s movement, felt the couch sink further under his own weight. He flipped a page and heard the crisp sound like a gunshot in the silence. He forced himself to breathe, nice and steady, and tried to will away the memories of the last few days.

            Dean had scared him but he’d also given him so much. He had saved him in the interview, kissed the anger and fear right out of him. And while it wasn’t the tactic Cas would have appreciated the most, maybe it was the right one. It had gotten him through the interview. It had woken him up in the morning. And maybe he should cut the guy some slack. Maybe sex was the only tactic he had.

            “Anything I can do to make it up to you?” Dean said.

            Cas met his eyes. “Do you think I should sign these?”

            “Do I think you should sign a contract that gives you half a million dollars for a month and a half of work?” Dean paused, pretending to think about it. “Yes, I do.”

            Biting down on his smile, Cas said, “The producer asked me for a favour in return for the role.”

            Dean raised an eyebrow. “What kind of favour?”

            “She just wants to know if you would maybe be open to playing my character’s one night stand.”

            The expression on Dean’s face morphed into a mix of curiosity, confusion, and consideration. He bit the corner of his lip, his eyes dropping to his feet. “You know I’d do anything to help you out,” he said, “but I can’t act for shit.”

            “Right. Didn’t _Kansas Panic_ do a pilot for a Disney show?”

            “We’re not talking about that.”

            “I really want to, though.”

            Dean smiled wide, shaking his head. “The only thing I will say on the matter is that I can’t act.”

            “You don’t really need to _act_. It’s a silent sex scene.”

            “It’s a sex scene?”

            Cas stared back at Dean, feeling the heat rise on his cheeks. He bit the tip of his tongue. As an actor, he had thought _one night stand_ implied _sex scene_ but he supposed it could mean any number of things to someone who hadn’t been in a movie before. A meeting at a bar. A makeout scene in a club. The morning after scene. Cas cleared his throat and stamped down on the instinct to look away. “Yes, it’s a sex scene.”

            “So when you say I don’t need to act...”

            “There are no lines.” The words came out kind of choked and Cas knew his cheeks were red and he couldn’t quite keep a handle on his smile. It was hard when Dean was looking at him with his head cocked, one eyebrow raised, innuendo lacing every word he spoke. Cas almost laughed. “You just have to follow the choreography.”

            “The choreography?”

            “Yes, Dean. They don’t actually want us to have sex on camera. It’s choreography.”

            “I’d say we’re pretty good at our own choreography.”

            Cas’ heart rate picked up. “Well, they’ll probably get us to try out a few things first, get a feel for the set, and then they’ll decide what works best with the camera configuration.” He cleared his throat again and tried to ignore the heat making its way down his neck. He met Dean’s smirk with one of his own. “It’s not going to be all making out for an audience. It’ll be four, five hours maybe and they’ll make us shoot it the same way, every time, for several different camera angles.”

            He forced himself to take on a serious expression in the face of Dean obviously enjoying this too much. “It won’t be fun. It’ll be hot and sweaty on set. You won’t get a break and someone will be telling you exactly what to do at all times. And you have to listen to them.”

            “That’s exactly what I like in bed.”

            Cas felt every nerve in his body burst into flames and he hung his head before he exploded. Then, Dean laughed. A big, joyous laugh that wavered on the edges like maybe he was just as nervous about this conversation as Cas was. Cas joined in, weakly at first and then gaining in volume. He looked back at Dean, who took a deep breath and smiled.

            “I think I can handle it,” he said.

            Cas said nothing. Instead, he picked up the pen and signed the contracts.

            As he finished his signature, Dean shifted from the armchair onto the couch. Cas looked over at him and then down to the phone in his hand. An email had come in from Sam with several links and a few pictures. Most of them were tabloid covers with images from the interview with Ruby. One, featuring them kissing, was titled _DEAN WINCHESTER IS SAVED._ Cas laughed.

            “You’re not even at the funny part yet.” Dean scrolled down a bit to where Sam had written out a long paragraph. Cas took the phone from him to read:

            _Everything is going great so far. The two of you are putting on a wonderful show for the press and the fans. Everyone is buying it. The only thing I ask of you is that you TONE IT DOWN. Twitter has been talking up a storm about how much sexual tension there is between you two and the conspiracy theories are getting a little wild. Thankfully, at the moment, it seems that most people are making a joke out of it – ie. these two probably had sex twenty minutes ago and they’re ready to jump back into bed again – but we can’t run the risk that it becomes a more serious talking point for people who still don’t believe your relationship is real. Take a breath. Take a step back. Try to interact as a couple_ without _seeming like your ten seconds away from fucking._

Under the block of text, Sam had inserted several screenshots from Twitter. Mostly, it was fan girls giggling over how much they wanted each other but a few others were tabloid feeds or semi-entertainment-news sites jumping in on the conversation. BuzzFeed had put up a post titled _Reasons Why Destiel May Be Celibate_.

            Cas looked up to see Dean grinning at him. “Think we’ll have a problem with that sex scene now?”


	25. Chapter 25

Leaving the house felt like, for the first time, Dean was leaving a part of himself behind. He and Cas were on relatively good terms – he felt confident if he didn’t get high or drunk or fuck everything that moved, Cas would forgive him by the time he got home. At the very least, he had visually confirmed that Cas had his phone back and was allowed to text him, even though Charlie had chewed out both of them for the Periscope session.

            Dean touched a hand to his lips as he approached LAX. On the front step, Cas had stepped out with him and given him a kiss. Surprised, Dean hadn’t had time to take control and he’d sunk into the sensation of soft lips against his and stubble brushing against his face.

            The car rolled into the airport and Dean took a picture of the LAX sign. He loaded it onto Instagram and captioned it: _@angelofthursday I miss you already._ Cheesy as fuck and almost too honest, but easy to play off as part of the plan.

            The flight was long and uneventful. A businesswoman who didn’t even seem to know who Dean was sat next to him in first class, so he dozed on and off the whole way to Texas. At the airport, Chuck greeted him by placing a cowboy hat on his head and snapping a quick picture. The picture was terrible – a little blurry, with Dean smiling wide – but he consented to having it on his Instagram page. He kept the hat on as they walked through the airport, insisting it was for anonymity, but Chuck rolled his eyes at the tired excuse.

            Dean’s favourite concert city was Texas because, instead of the leather jacket and skinny jeans, he got to dress in plaid shirts and bootcut denim. Every time he landed down in the state, he got to try on custom-made cowboy boots and switch between two or three pairs while he was on stage. The cowboy hat would last only a few hours – Chuck or an event assistant or some other well-meaning staff member would make him take it off – but Dean would relish in it while he could.

            He booted his phone back up on the car ride to the hotel and looked at Cas’ newest post. It was a picture of the title screen from _Tombstone_ with the caption: _@huntersheart I miss you too. So much so that I’m willing to watch this awful movie to feel closer to you._ Dean hit comment and typed, _You mean WONDERFUL movie. A MASTERPIECE._

Chuck glanced over at his phone. “Keep it in your pants,” he said. “We have five more stops before you get to go home to him.”

            Dean flipped him off but he barely cared about the jibe. A new event had been added to this leg of the tour and he was nearly bouncing out of his seat waiting for the car to pull up to the rodeo. It was silly, stupid really. Nothing more than a publicity stunt in the wrong season but Dean got to ride a horse. Chuck had sent him a picture of the outfit they’d approved – cowhide vest, bolo tie – and Dean wanted the clothes so much he’d almost suggested skipping the break in the tour to get there faster.

            The stadium towered before them as they headed in. Dean barely had time to take it all in – the sports fan seating, the dirt on the floor, the gates at the sides to hold the animals back – before he was rushed into hair and makeup. An animal trainer introduced him to the horse, a black stallion named Georgina, and Dean kissed her nose. He got a big horse sneeze in return and was immediately pulled back to hair and makeup.

            When he met up with Georgina again, he looked her in the eye and said, “Play nice this time, alright, girl?”

            “She’s just jealous,” the animal trainer said. “She can smell your man on you.”

            Dean laughed and gave the horse a pat on the neck. “You’re my number one girl, Georgina. I promise you that.” Then he swung up into the saddle, settling as Georgina shifted, and listened to the patient instructions of the animal trainer and the event coordinator.

            He rode out into the stadium to a laughing crowd. His job was to stay on the sidelines, play MC, and get out of the way when the more dangerous events were up. The seats were barely filled and the only camera flashing was Chuck’s, but Dean felt his heart fill as Georgina trotted around the side of the corral.

            By the end of the event, Dean was sweaty and dirty and bone-tired but still smiling. Chuck handed him his phone so he could choose which photos he liked. He chose several he knew Sam would approve of and a couple goofy ones – one where he’d almost fallen off Georgina, a shot of his face right after she’d sneezed, and an image of him red-faced but beaming as he pulled back on Georgina’s reins.

            After posting the big cluster of photos, he found one of him kissing Georgina’s nose and posted it too. He captioned it: _@angelofthursday I’m leaving you for her._

            The first comment that came through was from a troll, saying _typical bisexual._

The second was from Cas. Two words: _I’ll live._

Dean shook his head even as he was pulled towards the car. He washed up in the hotel and spent the night surfing through Netflix, right up until Cas called. They chatted for a bit about nothing in particular and Dean resisted the urge to ask what the call was about. Either it was about nothing and he’d fluster Cas, or there was some point to it and he’d ruin their quiet companionship. He wanted neither. So he convinced Cas to stay on the line while he watched _The Magnificent Seven_ and Cas highlighted his script.

            He didn’t remember hanging up but his phone was dead when he woke up the next morning. He washed his face, brushed his teeth, and got ready for the obligatory sound bite before he entered the concert venue. Chuck showed up to wake him, surprised to find him up and moving, and they got to the stage in record time.

            The paparazzi clamoured around him but Dean simply gave them a wave and pushed forward, swallowing down the nausea of claustrophobia. He loved Texas. He loved Houston. He would even remember the name of the city without Chuck writing in on his hand.

            Rehearsal and warm-ups and the rest period went fine. Dean chatted with a few of the techs, trying to get more of a country vibe to the show, and even convinced Chuck to let him sing a country song or two in the encore. When he asked where Hailey was, Chuck informed him she’d passed on Texas and they were getting an up-and-coming country star to take her place. Dean wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed or excited – except he was definitely excited.

            He watched the opening act from the wings of the stage, smiling the whole time. He walked on to the roar of the crowd and threw his cowboy hat out into the sea of screaming fans. Tapping his boot against the stage floor, he waited for the music to start up and then sang his heart out. He felt alive and electric and sweaty. The crowd roared for an encore and Dean came back before the five minutes were up. He sang his heart out. He danced a two-step with his opening act, even though the boy barely seemed to know the steps. Then he took a bow and stepped offstage.

            Chuck caught him by the shoulders, beaming. “Best performance yet.”

            “I fucking love Texas,” Dean replied. He took his phone back from Chuck and shot a quick video of the roaring crowd for Snapchat. He wrote _wish I wasn’t leaving_ over the video and posted it to his story.

            Dean headed back for his dressing room, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and back into his hair. His brain swirled with the high of the concert, adrenaline bursting through his veins. He sent Cas a quick text telling him how the concert went, telling him he wished he was there, and came up just short of telling him he missed him for real. Cas texted back _I’m your huckleberry_ and Dean beamed as he opened the door to his dressing room.

            He looked up to see a young girl sitting on the couch. She had her arms crossed against her chest and a serious expression on her face. She certainly wasn’t dressed for Texas. In fact, the leather jacket, ripped jeans, and faded concert tee spoke of a much colder climate. Her hair was blonde and half-braided, half left to flow freely across her shoulders. She wore little makeup and looked like she’d been sitting there, in the same position, for over an hour.

            Dean eyed her cautiously and left the door open behind him. “You’re not supposed to be in here,” he said.

            “I know.” Her voice was not one of a crazed fan. Or, if it was, not the kind Dean was used to encountering. Her tone was cold and angry.

            Dean had barely stepped into the room. He felt his heart crawling into his throat even though he knew he could take a teenage girl, no matter how many screws she had loose. “You should leave before I call security.”

            A cold smile spread over her lips. “You don’t have to worry, Dean. I’m not here to hurt you.” She got to her feet in a smooth motion, her biker boots clanking against the concrete floor. “I’m guessing you don’t know who I am?”

            Dean shook his head.

            “Claire Novak, your almost step-daughter.”

            The fear drained out of Dean at those words. He could almost see the resemblance, even though she had more of Kelly in her than Cas. And she was colder than he’d imagined, darker than he’d thought any child of Cas’ could be.

            “Do your parents know where you are?” he asked.

            “No,” Claire said, “but I’m sure it’ll be a while before either of them figure out I’m not tucked safely in my bed.” She took a step forward. “So it’s the perfect opportunity for us to talk.”

            “Talk about what?”

            “You and my father.”

            Dean blinked. “I thought he told you the truth about that.”

            “He did. And I believed him. That was stupid, wasn’t it?”

            “I don’t know what you mean.”

            Claire sighed and sat back down. She gestured for Dean to come sit with her, so he did, curious. She leaned back into the cushions and fixed him with a serious stare. Somehow, she was the opposite of her father in every way. Whereas Cas was stiff posture and easy smiles, Claire was casual posture and stiff expressions. It made her seem threatening, in a way, even though she was all of five-foot-four.

            “My dad wouldn’t lie to me,” she began, “but he would lie to himself. And I know all the stories, I’m not some sheltered little girl, and I know who you are. I know who my mom was before she met my dad. And I know that this little fake dating ploy is exactly how they got together. So my dad can lie to himself all he wants, but I won’t let him get hurt again.”

            “I’m not following.”

            “I’ve seen the interviews, the live streams, the social media flirting.” She leaned forward. “My dad isn’t that guy. He’s not easy or breezy and he sure as hell doesn’t kiss like that just for a story. Whether he’s ready to admit it or not, I know he loves you. And I won’t... I _can’t_...”

            She stopped and took a deep breath.

            Dean took in the tears in her eyes, the hitch in her breath. He took her hand in his and squeezed. “I’m going to call your dad, okay? Tell him where you are.”

            “Not until I get this out.” She snatched her hand back. “You can’t hurt him, you hear me? You’re not allowed to. He is so gentle and soft and he will not survive this a second time. He won’t be my dad anymore if he gets broken again. So stop fucking with him. Stop pulling the Dean Winchester charm on him. Stop it all. Because if you don’t, if you hurt him...” Tears started to roll down her cheeks in earnest and she batted them away angrily. Her voice shook. “I will hurt you.”

            Dean’s heart sank into his bowels. He wanted to hug her or help with the tears but he knew she wasn’t that kind of girl. Instead, he placed a tissue box in front of her and stood up. He called Cas.

            “Dean,” he said when he picked up. “This isn’t a great time. I... we...”

            “She’s here,” Dean said.

            Silence buzzed across the line. “What?”

            “Claire. She’s here, she’s with me, and she’s safe.” Dean glanced over his shoulder at her. She wiped the tears away, mascara staining her cheeks. “I’ll stick with her until you can come get her.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, this chapter is heavy af. Trigger warning in the end notes.

Cas had thought he’d been on a plane ride to hell before. Certainly, the sixteen hour flight to Italy had been no picnic and he’d once taken a redeye right after drinking a Red Bull. But the three hour flight to Houston took the cake. Despite knowing she was okay, despite knowing she was with Dean, Cas knew the gnawing sensation in his stomach wouldn’t go away until he saw her with his own eyes.

            Kelly had called him five hours ago, in the middle of the night, panicked. She thought maybe Claire had gone to see him – a move Claire hadn’t pulled in over a year and a half. Jack had woken Kelly, saying he’d had a nightmare. He’d shaken off her attempts at comfort and said what really worried him was that Claire hadn’t come running.

            Luckily, Dean had the timing of some sort of time traveller. He’d called just after Cas had gotten off the phone with Kelly, just before the real panic set in and before Cas could finish dialing 911. What had possessed him to answer, Cas didn’t want to think about it. He could play it off with Kelly – he’d just had this feeling, this pull, this tug telling him it was important – but the truth was, he’d just wanted to hear Dean’s voice. He’d wanted to hear Dean tell him everything was okay.

            Kelly met him in the baggage area, her black and white tote already firmly gripped in her hands. Cas tried not to steal too many glances her way as he waited for the luggage carousel to cough itself to life. When it did and Cas had grabbed his bag, she started moving towards the doors. He caught up with her just before she stepped into a cab and gently guided her towards the car Dean had sent.

            They sat in silence while what could only be considered an elevator-music-remix of Dean’s songs flooded the space. “Text him,” Kelly said after a minute.

            Cas did. And within seconds, Dean had texted back a picture of Claire messing around with a guitar in a recording studio. He showed the image to Kelly along with what Dean had said: _she’s got some talent._

“This is your fault,” Kelly said, but there was no fire to her words. They came out almost breathless, weak and defeated.

            Cas reached over and took her hand in his. “I know.” He pressed her knuckles to his lips.

            The car pulled up in front of a brick high-rise bearing the name of Dean’s record label in neon lights. Cas stepped out of the car first and then reached back for Kelly as the flashbulbs exploded around him. She took his hand, too tight, and they ran for the doors. A security guard waiting on the inside fumbled the keys when they approached but got the doors open just before the paparazzi crushed them.

            “Where’s my daughter?” Kelly asked.

            The security guard blinked, startled.

            Cas placed his hand on the small of Kelly’s back and moved her towards the bank of elevators. “They’re on the seventeenth floor.” He rubbed his thumb down the length of her spine, wishing he could do more, say more, to help her keep it together. But his brain was only functioning slightly better than hers. He felt like his heart was hollow and pumping out air instead of blood. Whenever he let his mind wander, he saw all the ways Claire could have been killed between her home in Orlando and here.

            “Shouldn’t we take the stairs?”

            “It’s not a fire,” Cas said.

            The doors dinged open and they stepped inside. Cas let his hand drop as they took up residence on opposite sides of the elevator. He forced himself to breathe steadily and watched Kelly in the thin mirrors that lined the walls.

            “It’s not your fault,” she whispered. Then she started to cry.

            Cas had an arm around her shoulders in a split second and, a moment later, had her curled into his arms. He stroked her hair. “She’s safe,” he said. “She’s smart and resourceful and safe.”

            Kelly nodded but didn’t stop crying. The doors opened and Cas led her out, still holding her tightly against his side. His whole body ached in a way he’d thought only his heart could. But he followed the signs easily enough to reach double glass doors with gold lettering proclaiming they led to the STUDIO.

            He pushed through and was greeted by the back of Dean’s head. Dean held up one finger, a gesture to wait or maybe for silence. On the other side of the glass, Claire stood in front of a microphone holding her hands over a pair of oversized headphones. Her voice, sounding angelic, flooded through the speakers.

            _“It’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah.”_

Kelly let out a breath she’d been holding too long. She stepped forward, placing one hand on the control panel, and said, “She sounds like an angel.”

            Dean half-stood and tapped on the glass. Claire looked up, shocked at first, and then suddenly fearful. Kelly ran for the studio door and gathered Claire up in a huge hug.

            Cas placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder. He squeezed. “Thank you.”

            “It was literally the least I could do.”

            Cas wanted to argue that. Here they were at nearly five in the morning in the abandoned Texas headquarters of Dean’s label all because his daughter had decided to take a three hour flight to see his fake boyfriend. Dean could have had security take her out. He could have had her arrested or thrown back onto a plane to Orlando immediately. He didn’t even have to call but it was the first thing he did.

            Cas didn’t have the words for it. So, instead, he said, “She’s an amazing singer.”

            “She sounds like shit, actually.” Dean adjusted some controls on the panel in front of him and rewound the recording. When he played it back, Claire sounded somewhere between a screeching cat and Andy Samberg pretending to rap.

            Cas snorted. “That seems more like my daughter.”

            Dean turned to face him and tilted his head towards the studio. “You should get in there. I’ll get out of your guys’ hair.”

            He got to his feet but before he could really move, Cas embraced him. Dean tensed at first and then relaxed into it, patting Cas’ back. “Thank you,” Cas said again, knowing the words weren’t enough but unable to come up with anything better. He pulled back, offering the best smile he could manage, and just the corner of Dean’s mouth twitched upwards.

            As he left, Cas joined Claire and Kelly in the studio.

            “Why would you do something like that?” Kelly was saying. “Fly to Houston in the middle of the night? You could have been killed or worse.”

            “Worse than killed? Mom—”

            “Don’t argue with me! What were you thinking?”

            Claire looked away from her mom to meet Cas’ eyes with a pleading look. Cas stepped forward and placed a hand on Kelly’s shoulder. “Let’s just get her home,” he said. “You can interrogate her after she’s had a good night’s sleep.”

            “She’s not sleeping. She has school in three hours.”

            “Mom!”

            “Kelly...” Cas managed to meet Kelly’s eyes, if only momentarily. Her anger barely seemed to exist. All that swirled in her brown eyes was fear and panic and a false sense of bravado. He swallowed back anything he might want to say and instead offered, “How about you go find a hotel, check in, and get some rest? Claire will meet you in a little while. I’ll take care of your flight home in the morning. And we won’t worry about Claire missing one day of school, okay?”

            Kelly swallowed hard. For a moment, it looked like she might argue but then she just nodded. She gave Claire one last tight hug before heading out the doors.

            Cas and Claire sat down on the leather bench at the side of the room. The wooden walls were hard against Cas’ back but he did his best to ignore it, even as his sleep-weary body protested every moment he spent with his eyes awake. He took his daughter’s hands and squeezed.

            “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he said.

            “Mom doesn’t usually catch me when I sneak out.”

            “Yeah, well.” Cas smiled a little despite himself. “Jack ratted you out.”

            She shook her head. “Goody two-shoes.”

            Cas let the silence fall around them for a moment. It was different here, somehow. Perhaps the soundproofing made the outside even quieter, making the inside even louder. He heard the heating start up – getting  ready for the people who would soon occupy the offices – and  the gentle vibrations of recently played guitar strings. The whole time though, his eyes were focused on his daughter in front of him, making sure she looked the same, that not a hair was out of place. Of course, with Claire, it was hard to tell what was out of place and what was a style choice.

            “I’m fine, dad,” she said. “I can get from the airport to a concert.”

            “How’d you get backstage?”

            Claire smiled. “I’m a hot girl and Dean Winchester was playing. How do you think I got backstage?”

            Cas closed his eyes against the implication of those words. “Never say that again.”

            “I’m just telling you the truth.”

            “Never. Again.”

            She smiled.

            “Why’d you do it?”

            Her smile fell and she looked down at the bench between them. When he squeezed her fingers again, she pulled back and crossed her arms. “Because,” she said, “I had to protect you.”

            “Protect me?”

            She looked up, fire in her blue eyes. “You think I don’t know things, that I don’t understand, but I do, okay? And I already watched you tear yourself apart just so mom would love you again and she left anyways. She left.” Claire took a deep, hitching breath but held back the tears. “And I was relieved. Because I knew the hurt would fade eventually.”

            Cas stared at her. “Claire... you know me and Dean... it’s all pretend.”

            “How am I supposed to know that?”

            “I told you.”

            “But all I see, all the time, are these pictures of the two of you kissing and holding hands and the cutesy shit you post online, and _how,_ how am I supposed to trust that that’s still fake? That you’re still in the middle of some stupid press ploy?” Claire licked her lips. “You finally seem happy, Dad. And even if that’s the only part of this whole thing that’s not fake, I can’t let you lose it. I have to protect it.”

            Cas stared at his daughter for a long time. When the first tear rolled, he reached forward to brush it off her cheek. “You don’t have to protect me, Claire. I’m your father. I’m supposed to protect you.”

            She snorted. “I’m stronger.”

            “And more intimidating,” Cas agreed. “But you’re still a kid for a few more months.”

            Claire nodded. “And after that I can move to L.A. and intimidate your fake boyfriend all I want.”

            Cas laughed. “Tell me you didn’t intimidate him.”

            She shrugged.

            Cas pulled her into a hug. They sat there for a long while, just listening to each other’s breathing, before Cas pulled back. He texted Kelly to get the name of the hotel she’d gone to and then met Dean downstairs. He got into the car with them for the five minute, sunrise-lit drive over to the hotel. Cas kept his arm around Claire’s shoulders, not ready to let her go quite yet.

            After turning Claire over to her exhausted mother and promising to wake them both up in time for their flight, Cas texted Jack to make sure he was okay. He’d spent the night at the neighbours and replied that he was currently in the middle of breakfast and didn’t want to seem rude to his hosts. Cas held the lit phone screen against his chest for a second, trying to figure out how he’d gotten two kids who were so different, but both so perfect.

            He headed up two floors instead of down to the lobby and knocked on Dean’s door. The guards on his floor didn’t even blink an eye at Cas anymore, just let him go where he pleased.

            Dean opened the door with a weak smile and a yawn. “Everything okay downstairs?”

            Cas nodded. “I just have to book their flight home.”

            “They can take the jet.” Dean sat down on the edge of the bed just as the door closed behind Cas. “We’re still in the state for another night, so... just let them know the pilot needs a few hours warning and they can leave whenever they want.”

            “Thank you.” Cas stood by the door, not sure what to do.

            Dean just shook his head in response. He seemed to be in the middle of getting changed – the black shirt from the high-rise had become an army green one and a different pair of jeans sat on the bed next to him. He ran a hand through his hair as he stifled yet another yawn.

            “I mean it,” Cas said. “Thank you. And not just for the jet, for... taking care of Claire. For tolerating whatever the hell she said to you. For calling me.” He licked his lips, his breath caught in his throat.

            Dean stared at his feet. He looked half asleep or maybe half dead. The muscles of his back were tensed as he leaned forward to pull on brown cowboy boots.

            “Dean... I can’t begin to tell you what it means that—”

            “Stop.”

            His voice was sharp, angry almost, so Cas shut his mouth immediately. He took a step back towards the door. What he’d expected, he wasn’t sure, but he swallowed the stab wound in his heart. Dean was tired, exhausted even, forced to stay up all night to take care of his kid when he had a day full of tour activities ahead of him. Cas swallowed hard, trying to drown both his nerves and his emotions in one fell swoop.

            “I’m sorry. I can call the label and get them to delay a few events, maybe.”

            Dean stilled and then shook his head. He sat up straight and Cas realized his eyes were red and raw. His cheeks were splattered with colour. Cas took a step forward, cautiously, and then joined him at the end of the bed. He placed his hand on Dean’s knee and squeezed, not asking the question because he knew Dean knew it and he’d answer if he wanted to.

            “I’m happy for you, I am,” Dean said, his voice rough. “And I’m... you’re welcome. Or whatever. But I can’t... I don’t want to think about the other ways this could have gone.”

            Cas caught Dean’s hand and interlaced their fingers. “Claire’s safe. She’s fine. Everything’s okay.”

            Dean nodded but there was a hitch to the movement. “It’s just... I know what it’s like to be on the other side of this.” His eyes were firmly focused on a patch of carpet in front of them. His Adam’s apple bobbed hard. “I know what it’s like when the kid doesn’t come home.”

            Every inch of Cas’ skin went cold. He saw goosebumps running up his arms as his heart sunk into a pit of dread so deep he had no idea how to wade out of it. But he just held Dean’s hand tighter, shifted closer, felt the heat of the other man’s body pressed against his side.

            “I dated Lisa for six years after _Kansas Panic_ broke up. I had a normal life working at a garage and barely anyone ever recognized me. It felt like it could be my life for a long time, maybe forever.” Dean licked his lips. “She had a kid. Ben. He wasn’t mine but... I raised him as my own. I did everything I could for him. I would have protected him with my life.”

            The shake in Dean’s voice invaded his body, making the bed springs squeak. The sun had risen outside, bathing the room in a warm, orange glow. Cas wanted to swallow back the words of the story, place them back in Dean’s heart and lock them up tight. But, instead, he said, “What happened?”

            “Ben wanted to go to a concert that was a town over. A three hour drive. A friend of his who I’d met a few times had a license and a clean driving record and he promised they’d get a hotel in town, stay the night, and drive back the next morning refreshed.” Dean shook his head. “I said yes. It made sense to me. But when Lisa found out, she said no. Apparently, she knew this kid better than I did and didn’t like him and didn’t want Ben going out of town with him.”

            Cas pulled their intertwined hands up against his chest, wanting Dean closer, wanting to do anything to stop his voice from shaking. Each word felt like it had to fight its way out of him.

            “I sided with her, of course, told Ben that the decision was final and he couldn’t go.” His voice took on an edge, something almost angry. “I made that very goddamn clear to him. Lisa was his mother. She knew better. And he wasn’t going.”

            “But he went,” Cas said.

            Dean nodded.

            A long silence flooded the room and Cas was so nervous to break it. He felt like a glass wall had surrounded them and one sound, one breath, would crack it wide open. When he glanced over at Dean, he saw him crying, the tears rolling down his cheeks in near silence. Cas kissed Dean’s knuckles and then his shoulder, burying his head there as the shaking slowly subsided.

            “Lisa blamed me,” Dean whispered. “I know she wasn’t thinking straight, couldn’t... couldn’t have been, but it still hurt. She kicked me out the next day. And it didn’t matter that I had told him that he couldn’t go. Because I’d told him yes first and if I hadn’t, if I’d just consulted with Lisa first or... or told him to ask her instead... he wouldn’t have thought...”

            “It’s not your fault.” Cas tilted his head up so the words were right next to Dean’s ear. He felt him shudder. “Kids sneak out. They disobey us. It’s not your fault.”

            Dean shook his head. “Ben wasn’t like that. He wouldn’t have gone against his mom’s wishes if he hadn’t known that I supported him.”

            Cas wanted there to be more words, more things to say, but he knew there weren’t. So he just pressed his lips against Dean’s shoulder again, hoping his silence was enough, hoping the warmth of their bodies so close together gave Dean some comfort.

            Dean’s voice went hollow. “The car flipped.”

            “No.” Cas shook his head. “You don’t have to tell me.”

            “They drove back at three a.m. Pitch black on the fucking side streets. His friend was drunk or high or maybe some combination of both and the car flipped. The cops think there was a deer on the road or... something else that made the driver turn the wheel too fast, but they never found whatever it was that they may or may not have hit. Or been about to hit. They never found it.”

            “Dean.”

            “Three kids died in that car.” He let out a painful sound, somewhere between a scream and a whine, and all Cas could do was hold on tight. “And one of them was my son.”

            Cas couldn’t breathe. And he knew if he couldn’t breathe, than there was no way Dean was doing any better. So he choked back the tears clogging his throat and blinked them out of his eyes. Slowly, he shifted off the bed to kneel in front of Dean and he took his face in his hands, forcing their eyes to meet.

            “I will say this as many times as you need to hear it,” Cas said, fighting to keep his voice steady. “Something terrible happened to you and you were treated terribly in the wake of it. But none of it, absolutely not one bit of it, was your fault.”

            “You don’t know that.”

            “I do.” Cas sniffed. “I know it seems unforgiveable. Jack broke his arm the first time I let go of his bike and I didn’t forgive myself for years, so in comparison...” He looked away, the urge to cry too strong, and took a deep breath. He settled his gaze back on Dean. “You are a good man, Dean Winchester, and you don’t deserve to carry this kind of pain.”

            When Dean kissed him, Cas couldn’t say he was surprised. It was nothing like the other times they’d kissed. His lips were soft and wanting, begging for Cas to take control, to give him something that he’d lost a long time ago. So Cas kissed him back gently, slowly rising to his feet and pushing Dean back onto the bed.

            He did his best to kiss Dean well, every peck gentle, every movement a lullaby, as he turned onto his side so they were lying face to face. He pulled the blankets up around them even though the room was too warm already. He cupped Dean’s face in his hands and kissed him, kissed him, kissed him right up until he was sure Dean was fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentioned death of a minor


	27. Chapter 27

“I don’t want to leave you,” Cas said.

            Dean bit back a sigh as he threw yet another t-shirt into his suitcase. He rolled his shoulders, trying to get rid of the ache that came from three hours of sleep and waking up with someone cradling you in their arms. Cas hadn’t slept. Dean knew he hadn’t slept. But he couldn’t push against that gentle tone, the softness that laced every word out of his lips.

            “You have to,” Dean said. He tried to sound just as gentle. “You have your first day of filming soon.”

            “I’ll ask them to delay it. Family emergency.”

            Dean almost laughed. He zipped up the suitcase and placed it by the door. For what seemed like the first time since he’d woken, he looked Cas in the eyes. The worry there, the desperateness, almost shook every bad thing in Dean’s head loose again. But he tightened the screws and said, “Go home. I’ll see you soon.”

            “Dean—” Cas started as he got to his feet.

            Dean put his hand firmly over Cas’ mouth. He met his eyes with a serious expression. “I’m fine,” he said, trying for soft but knowing he sounded downright mercurial. “I am always fine.” He let his hand fall.

            After a moment, Cas nodded. “Just let me know if you need me? I can be on a plane in less than an hour.”

            Dean barely resisted the urge to kiss him. He still felt the effects of Cas’ lips lingering on his skin, a slight tingle that felt a little bit like magic. Instead, he cracked a smile and clapped Cas hard on the shoulder. “That’s good to know.” He tossed the hotel key card onto the dresser. “Now let’s get the girls to the airport.”

            Thankfully, Cas resisted no more. But perhaps he stood a little closer than he used to and Dean caught him staring at him several times. Claire kept up a constant chatter on the way to the airport and through the drive-thru to get breakfast, probably in an attempt to keep her parents from broaching the subject of punishment. Dean threw her a bone and jumped in when she ran out of material with a question or an inflammatory statement or a joke she could bounce off of. She smiled at him in the rear-view mirror.

            Just before airport security, Dean slowed to a stop. “This is where I leave you.”

            “I mean it,” Cas said. “Tell me if you need anything.”

            Dean smiled at him. “Of course, babe.”

            Claire shook her head at him, her eyes going dark, and Dean shot her a wink.

            “You two know how to get to the jet?” he asked.

            Kelly nodded. “I’ve got your instructions written down right here.” She held up a hotel notepad with neat handwriting flowing across it. Dean almost smiled but then she pursed her lips tightly. He waited in the suddenly uncomfortable silence before she said, “Thank you for taking care of my daughter. I know it’s not... in the job description.”

            “Any time.”

            Kelly inclined her head.

            “Guess this is goodbye then,” Claire said, clearing her throat into the silence. “Thanks, Dean. Don’t forget our talk.”

            “I won’t.”

            Then, with a sudden burst of uncharacteristic affection, Claire stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. For a moment, Dean was too shocked to move. Then he patted her back awkwardly as Cas leaned into his side. Cas kissed his daughter on the head. It took a moment before Dean realized cameras were flashing everywhere and he relaxed into the staged affection.

            Claire stepped back, gave him one last wave, and turned with her mom towards security.

            Cas stepped in front of him. “One for the road?”

            Dean almost rolled his eyes. “I’m starting to think you just like kissing me.”

            “Can’t have you thinking that.” Cas stepped closer. “Remember? You’re not even that good at it.”

            Dean would have laughed but Cas kissed him right over top of his smile. He tried to ignore the cameras and the show they were putting on, but he knew he didn’t kiss back with anywhere near his usual passion. Cas stepped out of the kiss quick, too quick, and offered him an awkward smile.

            “Bye,” he said.

            “Have a safe flight.” Dean took a step back and then watched as Cas disappeared into the security line. He waited until he could no longer see the back of Cas’ tan jacket before heading out of the airport and towards his waiting car.

            Chuck greeted him inside with a litany of tour obligations. Dean took his phone back from him and posted his obligatory Snapchat story talking about the day. He thought, considering the circumstances, he did a great job of pretending everything was all right. Once he’d finished, mercifully, Chuck had the driver put down the shades and Dean dozed all the way to Dallas.

 

Dean went through the rehearsal motions in the sleepy daze that came with staying up most of the night and sleeping most of the day. It didn’t help that the concert venue had no windows, blocking out the sun and firmly throwing his circadian rhythm out the non-existent window. He stumbled through several songs, burped on a cue, and sat down breathless halfway through the run-through.

            Chuck called for a break and Dean mumbled a thank you. He pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing deep breaths in and out. His worst hangovers were never this bad. Something about three hours of sleep after spilling the most painful parts of your life story to a guy you barely knew really took it out of a guy. And worse, Dean felt like some part of himself he’d successfully locked away was now out in the open again. He felt like everyone could see the tragedy in his eyes, feel it in the air around him.

            “Need a pick me up?”

            Dean looked up as Hailey sat down beside him. She pulled the little plastic baggy half out of her pocket before shoving it back in and flicking her long, dark ponytail over one shoulder. “You look like shit out here.”

            “Thanks.”

            “So?”

            He shook his head and went back to staring at his feet. Part of him already wanted to take Cas up on his offer, text him and get him to stand in the crowd somewhere just so there was a familiar, friendly face out there, rooting for him. But more of him knew that wasn’t fair. Cas wasn’t his support system, wasn’t a real boyfriend. He had his own career to worry about, his own goals to pursue.

            Sitting there now, Dean wondered if he really had goals of his own. The music had seemed so far away from him when he was with Lisa. He’d only jumped at the chance to come back because there was nothing else left, nothing else he’d wanted, nothing else that he thought could make him feel alive.

            “You’ve got to do something,” Hailey said. “This mood will not fly tonight.”

            He met her eyes, only half-focused on her presence.

            “You could do me.”

            Dean’s lips quirked involuntarily. He shook his head again, looking away from her. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”

            “Then talk.”

            “It’s not gonna happen again.” His voice was flat, unemotional. “It shouldn’t have happened the first time or the second, but I’m putting a stop to it now.”

            She stared at him for a moment, brown eyes wide. Then she scoffed. “Your boyfriend spends one night with you and suddenly you’re a recommitted man? Don’t fuck with me, Dean. We both know that’s not your style.”

            Dean wanted to feel angry but the emotion just wouldn’t come. He was bone tired, even hours after he’d stopped crying, and he just didn’t have room to be mad about an objectively true statement. “Hailey,” he said, “it’s over.”

            “Whatever.” She flipped her hair again and got to her feet. “I’ll see you onstage.”

            Dean watched her leave, unashamedly taking in every movement of her hips before she disappeared behind the curtain. He got up a moment later and restarted the rehearsal. When they’d finished, he went back to his dressing room to check his text messages and found half a dozen from Cas, ‘just checking in.’ Dean smiled in spite of himself and texted back to let Cas know he was all right.

            He opened Instagram to find a post of his own bedroom on Cas’ feed with the simple caption, _I’ll just wait here then_. He hit the like button but didn’t post a comment. For a moment, he felt warm. Maybe safe.

            Chuck gave him the five minute call to stage. Dean spiked his hair, changed his clothes, and headed out to watch the end of Hailey’s set. He spent a few more minutes fiddling with his phone before he made a decision and took it out on stage with him again, hoping for another perfect picture.


	28. Chapter 28

Charlie was tied up with another client in New York, leaving Cas free to change his phone backgrounds without worrying about potential repercussions. On his lock screen, he used the picture from the airport where he, Dean, and Claire were cuddled in a hug. The tabloids had speculated Dean had reached the “meet the family” stage, ignoring the fact that Houston would have been a huge inconvenience for all of them for a milestone that easily could have waited. And on his home screen, Cas had the Instagram picture Dean had taken from stage in Dallas. Well, he had the uncropped version he had asked Dean to send him – a sea of hands made into hearts, lit up by the purple glow of the stage. The caption didn’t make an appearance on his phone but Cas heard it, in Dean’s voice, every time he looked at the image: _sending you this much love._

For three days, Cas spent most of his time tending to the details of their fake relationship. He posted on social media and flirted with Dean as publicly as the distance would allow and made the rounds on a few lesser known talk shows. He tended to the circus of rumours moving through the Twitter-sphere and watched too much _Gossip Girl_ with Jack, too late at night. As Jack put it, Claire had seen him in person so Cas owed him about three times as much TV that week.

            And when Cas’ curiosity beat out his determination not to invade Dean’s privacy, he spent some time looking for Lisa. It took time to find news of the car crash, not knowing any last names or the city it had happened in or if Dean had been mentioned in any way. He hadn’t. But the year was easy enough to guess and Dean’s insistence the streets hadn’t been lit cut major cities off the list. But when Cas finally found the crash he was looking for, he couldn’t bring himself to read past the first paragraph. It was like his heart had stopped beating.

            The first day of filming on _Dreaded Darkness_ was mercifully soon. Cas woke too early that morning and was forced to wander Dean’s house while the sun rose. He paced out his nervous energy, practiced greeting Balthazar, and restrained his rage. He tried not to feel it anymore. After all, he and Kelly were fine. Finding Claire together had proven they were finally on good terms after the divorse. Cas didn’t even think he had feelings for her anymore or, at least, not anymore than seemed appropriate for the mother of his children. But even the thought of Balthazar made him clench his fists and grind his teeth, ready to fight.

            Cas showered and dressed and ate a good breakfast before the car pulled up outside. He slipped in, waving to the photographers as he passed and ignoring their shouted questions – “How long has it been since you’ve seen Dean?” “Do you miss him?” “What’s the real story on the tension building between you?”

            The car door banged closed, immediately stifling their voices. Castiel looked up to see his driver smiling at him in the rear-view mirror. “You seem like a popular guy.”

            “Trust me,” Cas said, “it’s all my boyfriend’s doing.”

            A fifteen minute drive got them to the studio gates and, after another ten minutes assessing their credentials, they were let through to the studio itself. It was an impressive, basic concrete building near the end of the lot, emblazoned with a gigantic blue letter B. The driver slipped out and opened the door for Cas, who got to his feet only to immediately have his hand shaken by a thirty year old woman in a black t-shirt and jeans.

            “Welcome, Castiel,” she said. “My name is Anna. I’ll be your personal assistant on set today and for the rest of filming. If there’s anything you need, or anything not to your liking, I’ll be happy to take care of it for you. Or I’ll direct you to the right person to address your concern if it turns out I cannot help you. That being said, is there anything you need right off the bat today, sir?”

            Cas stared at her for a long moment. He was vaguely aware they were still shaking hands, her grip ironclad. He offered her the best smile he could come up with on the spot, strained and nervous as it was, and said, “How about we just start with the tour?”

            She nodded and dropped his hand too fast. “The tour. Great. Follow me.”

            Anna led him through the set with practiced ease. She had the tour memorized start to finish, which didn’t allow a lot of room for questions, but Cas appreciated her dedication to her work. She showed him where he would check in each day, where he could find her, the various sets that were either up already or in the process of being built, the green room, and his own dressing room. Then, at the door, she handed him a packet complete with a map, a shooting script, and a menu detailing what craft services could and couldn’t bring right to his room.

            “Do you need anything else, sir?”

            Cas shook his head. “Think I’m all right for now. Do you know when they’ll need me on set?”

            Anna blinked at him, then raised her hand to the earpiece balanced atop an industrial piercing. “When will you need Mr. Novak this morning?” She waited a moment, said thanks, then smiled at Cas. “The director will be addressing the whole cast in the green room in about twenty minutes. You’re welcome to wait up there or in here.”

            “Thank you,” Cas said. And then, when she didn’t move, he said, “You... can leave.”

            She smiled again, more nervously. “Sorry.” Then she reached forward and pressed some sort of pager into his hand. “If you need me for anything, just press this button here and I will come running.” She turned on her heel and left.

            Cas spent a few minutes settling into his dressing room and doing all the little things he liked to do on a new set. He set up some photos of his kids on his dresser, threw a blanket over the old couch in the corner, and set down some of his preferred hair products in front of the mirror. He looked through the small collection of costumes in the closet, got a water bottle from the mini fridge, and then headed to the green room with a few minutes to spare.

            He was surprised to find the room relatively full. A few people reached out to him, shook his hand, and Cas tried his best to memorize their names and roles as he went around. Balthazar was nowhere to be seen. Cas settled near the back of the room, leaning against a counter, even though several people had offered him their seats. He sipped his water and chatted with the woman standing beside him. She played one of the ghost brides that haunted the house, which said a lot for her pale complexion and white-blonde hair.

             After a few minutes, the director clapped his hands together, calling the room to attention. He was a big and rough man with a vibe closer to lumberjack than movie director. But he commanded a room with ease. “For those of you who don’t know, my name is Bobby Singer,” he began, “and I’m directing this shit show of a movie.”

            A few people started to whisper in response to that comment but Bobby held up a hand to silence them. “That’s a joke. I make it on every set and it never goes over well.” He cleared his throat. “I care for this script and for the people who we’ve hired to make this movie happen. While you all may be big shot actors, you’re not more important to me than my crew. That’s the first rule on this set. You treat the crew with respect or you’re out.”

            Cas smiled. He liked the guy already.

            “The second rule is no one’s afraid to talk to me. And I mean no one. I can’t promise I can make your problems go away or even address your concerns in an appropriate matter, but I don’t want any of you to feel like you can’t talk to me. I’ll do my best. That’s all I can promise.”

            A few more people around the room smiled. The room felt warmer and more like a family already.

            “All right,” Bobby said. “Where are my leads?”

            Cas stepped forward, raising his hand slightly.

            “Which one are you?”

            “Castiel Novak,” he said. “I play Michael.”

            “And where’s your other half?” Bobby glanced around the room before his eyes settled back on Cas, narrowing slightly.

            Cas shrugged. “Haven’t seen him, sir.”

            Bobby nodded and then moved on to more rules, to what he expected of them today, and then let the cast go. He gestured for Cas to stay back and Cas stopped next to him, expecting some sort of extra information. Bobby watched as everyone filed out and closed the door behind him before turning back to Cas.

            “I’ll be straight with ya,” he said. “I don’t like you.”

            Cas blinked. “I’m... sorry, sir?”

            Bobby smiled and then clapped him on the back. “I’m messing with you, kid. You did a great job in your audition. I’ll admit I didn’t recognize you until I got the call from Alberta explaining the situation and I might not have been as nice to you had I known, but we’re all on the same page now, so I expect you to be on your best behaviour, you hear?”

            Cas stared at him for a little longer before shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I have no idea what we’re talking about.”

            “Dean hasn’t mentioned me?”

            Cas shook his head again.

            “Little bastard,” but he said it with affection. “I practically raised that boy after his father went off the rocker. Wasn’t around as much as I shoulda been, maybe, didn’t get him out of there when I should’ve, but I did my best. I think that’s worth a mention.”

            “You know Dean. Not much of a talker.”

            “I do know Dean. Which means, while you may be one of my actors, you’re also the guy fucking the closest thing I have to a son. So watch yourself.” He patted Cas hard on the shoulder one last time and then walked out of the room.

            For a moment, Cas just stared after him blankly. Then, overwhelmed by the urge, he started to laugh right as Balthazar walked through the door chewing on an apple. The other man looked around the room, clearly confused, and said, “Did I miss the party?”

            Cas barely had the brain power to stop himself from giggling, let alone be annoyed Balthazar had shown up late. He moved past him without a word, already composing a text to Dean. Five minutes into a conversation with Anna, while half-listening to Bobby berate Balthazar for showing up late, the reply came in.

            **Dean:** _Fuck._

**Cas:** _You’re a fully grown adult._

**Dean:** _Bobby’s gonna fucking kill me and frame you for the murder all cuz I forgot to tell   him our relationship is fake af_

**Cas:** _I’ll be on my best behaviour, promise._

Cas put his phone away to see Ana staring at him, her mouth half open. “Sorry,” he said. “Boyfriend.”

            She recovered herself with a nod. “Maybe I should take your phone.”

            Cas handed it over without complaint but not before making sure it was on silent and firmly locked. Then he allowed himself to be ushered through the steps of the day, which was mostly getting a feel for the sets and making sure he was ready for the next day’s line read. He barely saw Balthazar and he found Bobby’s off-brand version of protective father oddly endearing. All in all, it wasn’t the worst day of his life.

 

Cas came back from set late and was surprised to see the house’s front lights on. A few reporters milled around the edges of the lot but they barely looked up as he got out of his car. He spotted Kevin as he passed and asked, “What’s going on?”

             “Just thought I’d wait and see if Dean comes out to greet you.”

            Cas smiled. “I wouldn’t count on it.

            Kevin just shrugged.

            Cas walked past him, opened the front door, and was immediately assaulted by the loud pitch of Dean’s voice. He shut the door quickly.

            “Are they out of their damn minds? Are they aware of who the fuck I am?”

            “Dean, let’s look at this reasonably—”

            “Reasonably? Sam. They’re saying my dick doesn’t work.”

            Cas tried his best not to laugh but clearly failed, as Dean’s glare fixed on him. Even angry, possibly frothing at the mouth, Dean looked exhausted and harmless. His hair stuck up at an odd angle, the bags under his eyes were more prominent than his eyes and, despite his anger, he was plunked down in an armchair. He looked incapable of getting out of it.

            Cas swallowed his smile. “I’m sorry,” he said. “What did I just walk into?”

            “The worst conversation of my life,” Sam said. He was slumped in the middle of the couch, his elbows resting on his knees as he yawned.

            “Fuck you,” Dean said.

            Cas held up both his hands in a mixed gesture of both surrender and to ask them to settle down. He glanced from Dean to Sam, then settled on Sam. “Let’s start with why you’re here.”

            “Because I knew Dean was going to have an aneurysm when he read this.” Sam picked a copy of _The Inquirer_ up off the coffee table and handed it to Cas. The headline read: _Dean Winchester Impotent?_ along with several shocked-face emojis.

            Cas wondered how long he’d be able to keep a straight face during this conversation and why his good mood had yet to be ruined. The skeptical gate guard hadn’t ruined it. Balthazar hadn’t ruined it. Coming home at nearly eleven p.m. to a shouting match hadn’t ruined it. He glanced over at Dean and did his best to block out the obvious reason – all day, he’d known he was coming home to Dean.

            “Everyone knows _The Inquirer_ is trash,” Cas said. “They’ve accused Obama of being gay and Cher of being an alien.”

            “Are you sure either of those are lies?” Dean countered. “Because I’m not.”

            “I’m fairly certain the former President isn’t gay, but, to be fair, I’ve never had the opportunity to test that theory.”

            Dean flipped him off.

            Cas looked back at Sam as seemingly the more reasonable person in the room. “You know if you hadn’t come here, he probably never would have seen that? And I could be fast asleep by now?” He didn’t quite hit the annoyed tone he wanted and instead ended up sounding amused by the whole predicament, which, to be fair, he was.

            “This is all part of a bigger problem.” Sam straightened and took a deep breath. “ _The Inquirer_ may be the first grocery store publication to pick up on the story, but the problem of the so-called sexual tension between you two isn’t going away as I’d hoped. The interview keeps getting analyzed. Every photo and tweet you two share gets the rumours swirling again. Everyone thinks you flirt more like you’re courting than fucking and it’s become a problem.”

            Cas glanced at Dean, who looked half asleep, and then back to Sam. “How much of a problem?”

            “The rumours are out of control. There’s obviously this one, which _The Inquirer_ has chosen as the most embarrassing and easiest to exploit, but there are others too. People think you’re saving yourself for marriage. There’s a small contingent who think Dean’s a sex addict and currently in treatment.” Sam pursed his lips. “It’s gaining more ground instead of getting quashed by the news cycle. Your fans are obsessed with your sex life.”

            “That’s disturbing,” Cas and Dean said in unison. Cas tried to swallow the smile that itched across his lips.

            “I agree,” Sam said, “and I think it’s something that we need to think about, talk about, and come up with a plan for battling. At the moment, it’s still nothing more than a stupid rumour, so we have time before we fight back against it. If you get put into any corners, laugh it off and don’t get inappropriate in denying it.” He shot a pointed look at Dean.

            Dean flipped him off too.

            Sam prepared to leave. Dean got up to hug him and Cas shook his hand. At the door, Sam paused and said, “In a few days, I’ll come back around with a plan. We’ll set up a few interviews, play the numbers, see what we can work out. In the meantime, don’t do anything stupid.”

            “Like?” Dean said.

            Sam gave him a harsh look. “You know.”

            Cas resisted the urge to get overly hospitable and offer Sam a room for the night. However, as soon as the door closed behind him, he turned to Dean and said, “Why isn’t Sam staying with us?”

            “He’s got an apartment in town.” Dean had barely moved from the doorway. As long as Cas had known him, he had been on the move or on his phone or getting ready for something. His eyes darted over to Cas’ and he said, “We need to figure this out. Tonight.”

            Cas raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure Sam just told us to do the exact opposite.”

            “Well, Sam’s an idiot.”

            “He is our publicist.”

            But Cas was now talking to Dean’s back as the other man made his way into the kitchen. Cas followed, frowned when he heard the coffee machine whirring, and leaned against the doorframe. Dean had only turned on one light – the strip light under the cabinets – and he looked odd half-illuminated and reaching for mugs.

            “I have to work tomorrow,” Cas said.

            “That’s the beauty of coffee,” Dean said. “It works both in the morning and at night.”

            Cas let the argument go. He took the steaming mug Dean offered but didn’t drink, even as Dean leaned back against the counter the glugged his own. Once he swallowed, he said, “Okay, think. How do we combat this?”

            Cas shook his head.

            “Here’s what I’m thinking,” Dean continued as he started to pace through the kitchen. He made a good show of looking like he was doing something but, really, he opened cupboards at random and took out dishware, food, and cutlery with no rhyme or reason. “The fans are already giving us plenty of explanations for what’s happening, right? So, I say, we grab hold of one of them and just introduce it as the truth and, _bam_. Rumours over; news cycle moves on.”

            “Which one?”

            “The saving yourself for marriage thing.”

            Cas watched as Dean walked across the tile, his jeans sliding down as he stepped on the hems. He let his eyes graze over the exposed band of Dean’s boxers. “I’ve already been married,” he said. “Plus, that’s stupid.”

            “We make up our own explanation then.” Dean’s voice got rougher, more urgent. “When was that interview anyways? After I’d been out of town forever? Say it’s a onetime thing, that we’re long distance, _of course_ there’s sexual tension between us.”

            “It was also right after the Periscope video,” Cas pointed out. He followed the tight line of Dean’s throat, the heat building in his cheeks. “How do we explain not fucking then?”

            “I was messed up and—”

            “Couldn’t get it up?” Cas smirked.

            Dean paused and looked directly into Cas’ eyes. For a second, Cas thought he might get hit. But then the tension in Dean broke and he let out a bit of an exhale, just the edge of a laugh. “Shit, man. I’m sorry. I just... my whole career is built on this persona. If people think I’m not having sex...”

            “Sexed up rock god becomes a hard thing to sell. I get it.”

            He smiled, the dim light catching on his teeth. Then he licked his lips. “Sammy says he gets it but... he’s concerned with the tabloids, not the fans. And as much as I’d love to be a sweet boy band rock star for all the girls out there, the guys who buy my music expect something else. And deal or not, my label’s not gonna sign me if my image is in the toilet.”

            “That’s what we’re trying to prevent.”

            “A different part of my image.”

            Cas nodded and tried not to let his eyes stray too far when Dean scratched his stomach, exposing his defined abs. “Are you okay?” he asked after a moment, forcing himself to meet Dean’s eyes. “You seem... restless.”

            “Post concert withdrawal, I guess.”

            “You’ve still got one more, right? In town?”

            Dean nodded.

            Cas let the silence settle around them. He considered setting down his coffee, telling Dean the problem could wait until morning, and heading to bed. He did have to be up early to film tomorrow and he’d need all his strength to keep his good mood going through whatever torture Balthazar had planned for him. Today, there had been no signs of torture, but Cas knew they were coming.

            Something held his feet in place, kept him standing there in the half-dark with an agitated, buzzing Dean. Dean held his own kind of magnetism, exuding stage presence without an audience to soak it up. There was just Cas and Dean. Cas thought this must be how the people Dean took home after shows felt around him, like he was larger than life, like he commanded their attention.

            Dean let out a long exhale. “How are we going to fix this without making Sam mad?”

            The words got out before Cas could stop them. “We could have sex.”


	29. Chapter 29

Dean blinked. “No,” he said. “Between Charlie and Claire, I know where that ends and I like my balls where they are right now, thank you very much.”

            Cas rolled his eyes. “Charlie’s out of town and I’m not exactly in the business of updating my daughter on my sex life.”

            Dean bit down hard on his tongue to keep from saying something stupid. Or maybe he’d already said something stupid. He was never sure with Cas. Just like, right then, watching Cas lean against the kitchen doorframe and fiddle with the mug in his hands, Dean wasn’t sure if Cas had made a serious suggestion or a joke.

            “What’s gotten into you?” Dean set down his almost-empty mug and crossed his arms. He wanted to be as intimidating as he sounded, but his legs felt like jelly so he leaned back against the counter. “You’re the one who told me not to touch you or kiss you. You said you didn’t want to get invested.”

            “My method obviously isn’t working.” Cas took a step into the kitchen. “So let’s try yours.”

            “What method?”

            “My method is the we-don’t-touch-more-than-necessary method.” Cas gestured at the space between them as he spoke, then came closer. “And your method, I assume, tends to be fuck-them-then-fuck-them-over.”

            Dean tried not to smile but Cas smiled back at him all the same. “I would have put it more poetically,” Dean said, “but I guess that’s the gist of it.”

            Cas shrugged. “So? What do you say?”

            Dean let his eyes fall from Cas’ face and down the length of his body. The blue t-shirt he wore was a size too big and left lots to the imagination. He wore faded jeans that looked worn at the knees. Dean wanted to reach forward and pull them off him.

            “I can’t fuck you over. We have a deal.”

            “Fuck me then fuck off.” Cas’ eyes sparkled in the half-light. He’d gotten so close Dean could feel the warmth of him, smell his sweat. “However you want to word it.”

            Dean scanned Cas’ face. “Why?”

            “Why what?”

            “Why change your mind?” Dean placed his elbows on the counter and took a more relaxed posture, looking up at the other man. He trained his features to look calm, even as his heart felt like it was beating out of his chest.

            “We need a plan,” Cas said, “and it’s the only obvious solution to the problem at hand.”

            Dean hummed. “Have sex to abate the sexual tension.”

            “Exactly.”

            Dean straightened and suddenly they were close, too close. He steadied his breathing and focused on Cas’ eyes even though less than an inch separated their bodies. He laid a hand on Cas’ shoulder. “Look, if you want to hide behind some facade of professionalism, I’m not gonna stop you. But I’m also not gonna fuck you.”

            “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            “Admit you _want_ to have sex with me or drop it.”

            For a long moment, the only sound Dean heard was Cas’ breathing. He sounded like he’d just run a marathon. Dean almost felt bad for teasing him, for making him face the things in his head, but mostly, he just held his breath and waited. He knew Cas. Maybe not well, maybe not for long, but he knew him. And he would come out all right on the other end of this, tucked neatly into his own bed, his balls safely where they belonged.

            “Fine,” Cas said, voice even.

            Dean relaxed.

            Then, Cas stepped closer, pinning him up against the counter. “I want to sleep with you.”

            Dean’s eyes closed, half-instinct and half-hidden sigh. Cas’ lips came down on his neck, kissing through his post-concert stubble and sucking on his earlobe. Dean did his best to swallow down the groan in his throat, to control the blood flowing downwards as fast as possible. His hands bit into Cas’ hips, scrunching his shirt in his fingers, bruising his soft skin.

            “Fuck, Cas,” Dean bit out. He managed to push the other man away a step. “As much as I would love to fuck in my kitchen, I have a perfectly nice bed upstairs.”

            “Seems like a walk.”

            Dean shook his head, not believing that the man before him now was the same one he’d been trying to get into bed for over a month. He’d jumped when Dean had made a move in Banff. He’d begged him to keep going just as much as he’d begged him to stop when he was drunk. And, when Dean had offered to get on his knees, Cas had said they couldn’t cross that line. He couldn’t get invested. Dean wondered if he needed to make his own rules about getting invested, draw his own lines to keep himself from tumbling right over the edge.

            “Come on,” he said, pushing away from the counter. He ignored the tightness in his pants as he headed towards the stairs and forced himself to take them one step at a time. He could feel Cas, a step or two behind, not touching him, just breathing. Dean felt him like goosebumps on his skin, like an electric current running through his veins.

            He entered his bedroom and then turned to face Cas as he closed the door. “Not necessary,” Dean said, “considering the rest of the room is windows.”

            Cas shrugged. “Give me some illusion of privacy, please.”

            Dean shook his head and almost stepped forward to kiss him. Almost. Cas’ lips looked red already and Dean wanted to bite them, to feel them everywhere. But he stopped himself. “We need some ground rules,” he said, “if we’re going to do this.”

            Cas settled back against the closed door. “Such as?”

            Dean searched the expanse of his brain to try to figure out where the words had come from. His brain wasn’t necessarily attached to his dick and with Cas leaning up against the door, half-hard with mussed hair and swollen lips, his brain wasn’t getting the blood it needed either.

            “This is a onetime thing,” he said.

            Cas raised an eyebrow.

            “Fuck and fuck off, right? That’s my method. Well, I can’t exactly fuck off given our current situation so it’s gotta be symbolic.” He held up a finger. “We do this once and only once.”

            Cas tiled his head to the side, considering, and then held up two fingers. “Twice.”

            “Twice?”

            “You fuck me, I fuck you.”

            The part of Dean’s brain that prevented him from swallowing his tongue short-circuited. Dean coughed into his hand, trying not to blush. “Fine,” he said, “but within twenty-four hours. And after that, it’s over. Sexual tension gone, plan goes forward as... planned.”

            Cas looked at him for a long moment and then inclined his head. “Anything else?”

            Dean licked his lips, searching for something else to say.

            Cas stepped forward in a lazy, almost predatory movement. Dean forced himself not to move, not to blink. Cas approached until he stood practically on Dean’s toes, his breath across Dean’s face, nothing touching. His blue eyes lit up in the darkness, like lightning waiting to strike. “We don’t have to do this,” Cas whispered. He grazed his thumb down Dean’s jawline. “We can wait for a better solution, play the next few days by ear...”

            Dean swallowed hard.

            “I don’t want to force you into anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

            He laughed, just a little chuckle that sounded choked to his own ears. Shaking his head, he said, “That’s not the problem.”

            “Then what is?”

            “I think I want this too much.” He heard the words but could barely remember saying them, didn’t think he’d let something like that pass his lips. “I think I’ll break you.”

            “You won’t break me.” Cas kissed him hard and Dean let the argument fall. He didn’t break the kiss to tell Cas he didn’t mean physically, that he didn’t think Cas would break if a brick house fell on him, but instead that Cas’ heart could break just from Dean gripping it too tight.

            When in control, Cas kissed like an animal with nothing to lose. He forced Dean back into a wall, their bodies pressing together as their breath got uneven and Dean found he had less control over the sounds that left his lips. Cas’ heavy hands held down his hips, pinning him against the wall even as his every instinct told him to push up against Cas, to hold onto him and never let go.

            As Cas trailed kisses down his neck, Dean managed, “I fuck you, you fuck me, huh?”

            Cas murmured gibberish in response.

            “Any leeway in that order?”

            Cas looked up, their eyes meeting, and a smirk graced his lips. “I could be persuaded.”

            Dean wanted to memorize that expression, freeze the moment behind his eyelids for as long as he lived. If he only got to feel this once, he wanted to be able to play every second on repeat whenever he felt alone, whenever he needed a release, whenever Cas looked at him with less than lust in his eyes.

            But then Cas kissed him again and Dean felt himself pulled into the moment, into the feeling of soft lips up against his. Their hips slotted together and Dean groaned into Cas’ open mouth, letting his body go all but limp in his grip. His hands wandered under Cas’ shirt, feeling his way across his stomach, up into the hairs of his chest. He scraped his nails back down until he caught the waistband of his jeans.

            He heard Cas’ breath catch coming out of the kiss and he leaned his face into Dean’s shoulder, just breathing across the skin. Dean dipped his hand into Cas’ boxers and curled his fingers around his dick. With slow, careful movements, he stroked him with as much care as he could make himself take and heard Cas whimper, the sound weak and begging. Dean wanted to play it on repeat for the rest of the night, for the rest of his life.

            After a minute, Cas stepped back and took Dean’s hand out of his boxers. He led him by the hand back to the bed but stopped at the foot of it. Dean, despite everything in him wanting to do different, stayed where Cas left him.

            “Strip,” Cas said as he sat down on the end of the bed.

            Dean smirked. “You’ve been planning this, haven’t you?”

            Cas laughed.

            Dutiful as always, Dean started to undo the buttons on his shirt. He shrugged it off and took a step forward. Taking one of Cas’ hands in his, he placed it against his chest and revelled in the hesitation of Cas’ fingers, the wonder with which he touched him. Dean guided Cas’ hand to the button of his jeans and together they got it open, heavy breathing filling the room. He stepped out of his jeans, then reached down and took off Cas’ shirt.

            He kissed Cas as soon as the shirt was over his head, towering over him where he sat on the bed. Then he moved to straddle him and put his hand back into Cas’ boxers. He stroked him rougher now, feeling his dick throbbing in his fingers, and he moved his hips to the rhythm of his strokes.

            “Dean,” Cas managed, the word sounding more like a prayer than a plea. His lips slipped from Dean’s, pressed against his chin, and then nuzzled into the curve of his shoulder. “Please.”

            Smiling, Dean tilted his head back up to kiss him as he pushed him back onto the bed. He pulled down Cas’ pants and underwear all at once and pressed his cotton-clad erection up against Cas’ bare one. The whimper that left Cas’ throat sent shivers down his spine, made every kiss Dean lay against his chest shake with the sound.

            As Dean kept moving down, Cas said, “Fuck, no. Dean. I’m...” He took a shaky breath. “I’m an old man. I’m not gonna last through that.”

            Dean kissed the inside of Cas’ thigh, then looked up at him with a shit-eating grin. He liked this – Cas trembling under his touch, every move he made getting a reaction. “What will you last through?”

            “Come here.”

            Dean obliged. Cas kissed him heavily, his tongue strong and bold under the cover of night. Then, he turned abruptly, pinning Dean under him as his hands crept down Dean’s chest. He pulled down Dean’s boxers as he kissed him methodically, patiently, one of his hands cupping Dean’s balls as the other grasped his ass. Dean gasped into the kiss.

            Cas chuckled. “You’re not that immune either, are you?”

            “Fuck you,” Dean whispered but the words held no fire. He felt seconds away from begging, from letting his every thought leave his lips, and even achingly hard, he knew that was a bad idea. “At least _do_ something.”

            He reached for the bedside table, rummaged inside, and finally got a hold on the lube. He tossed it at Cas’ chest and felt it bounce back onto his own. Cas sat up, his ass resting on Dean’s thighs, and took the lube. He squirted some onto his fingers and rubbed them together, warming it.

            Dean watched Cas, the patient look on his face, that almost-smile he tried to hide. He rubbed his ass against Dean’s thighs. His weight kept Dean from bucking his hips no matter how much his body wanted to move, wanted friction.

            “Hand me a pillow,” Cas said.

            Dean did.

            Cas lifted him up and slid the pillow under his pelvis. He moved off him. Then, hooking Dean’s leg over his shoulder, he slid his pointer finger into Dean’s ass. Dean tightened instinctively, his teeth biting into his bottom lip, and tried to breathe through the slight pain. Cas’ other hand danced up his stomach, rubbing it softly, before coming back down to stroke his balls.

            Dean whimpered as Cas started to move his finger. Cas bit his lip, shifting slightly with every movement. His eyes stayed on Dean’s body, curious, like he too was trying to memorize every moment, every movement.

            Dean wanted to take it back. He wanted to say they could do this a hundred times, a thousand, as long as Cas hurried up and fucked him. But he swallowed back the words, the promises he wanted to make, and focused instead on trying not to outright moan as Cas added a second finger. He failed.

            Cas chuckled. “Thought you’d be more used to this.”

            As the fingers stretched inside him, Dean did his best not to shake so hard he fell apart. He tried to raise his hips but Cas’ other hand came down on his hip, holding him steady. “As you can imagine,” Dean began, every word breathless and husky, “I don’t bottom a lot.”

            “You seem to like it so far.” Cas twisted his fingers, hitting Dean’s prostate, and Dean let out an embarrassingly loud sound. “In fact, I remember this being your idea.”

            “Fuck.” Dean bit out the word as hard as he could. Focusing his eyes on the ceiling and not the incredibly hot man with his fingers in him was the only way Dean could stop himself from babbling out embarrassing promises to get what he wanted. “I like it. I just... fans expect something else.”

             “You fuck a lot of fans?”

            “What do you think?”

            “Shh,” Cas murmured. He added a third finger, stroking inside of Dean. His other hand caressed his thigh. “You’re okay,” he whispered. “You’re okay.”

            “I know I’m okay,” Dean bit back. He closed his eyes tight as pain and pleasure warred inside him and let out a loud groan. “I just need you to fuck me and then I’ll be fucking fantastic instead of—” His own moan cut him off.

            “Instead of what?”

            He looked back at Cas, who was the picture of innocence even as he stroked his fingers over Dean’s prostate. Dean sighed, letting his whole body relax into the sensation. “When did you become such a fucking asshole?”

            “You like it.”

            Dean rolled his eyes. “Like it more if you weren’t so gentle with the prep.”

            “Forgive me for not wanting to tear you in two.”

            “You couldn’t tear me—” He cut himself off when he looked down and saw what Cas was packing. He’d felt it before, wrapped his hand around it, but the girth of Cas’ cock was much more daunting when it was about to go into his ass.

            “You feel ready?” Cas asked.

            “Yeah.”

            Cas cocked an eyebrow at him even as he shifted forward, pushing up Dean’s other leg. Their eyes felt glued together for the moment, focused and clear. Dean almost forgot to breathe as Cas got hold of his ass and propped him up further.

            “Are you sure about this?” Cas asked.

             “I want to. Do you?”

            Cas nodded but the word didn’t seem able to form on his tongue. Licking his lips, he bent down and kissed Dean with a softness Dean had never felt before. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He gripped the back of Cas’ neck, almost pulling his hair out when he backed out of the kiss.

            “Fuck me,” Dean begged, not caring how the words sounded. A second more and he’d tell Cas anything he wanted to hear. He’d go on for hours about how much he wanted him, he’d tell him every moment he thought of him, he’d tell him he loved him even though he wasn’t sure he did. Every lie that would get Cas inside him would be his, would be a secret between them, if he didn’t hurry the fuck up.

            Mercifully, Cas started to guide his cock inside of Dean. He moved slowly, letting Dean get used to the stretch, and murmured sweet nothings as a litany of curses left Dean’s lips. Fully settled, Cas paused and stroked his hand up Dean’s thigh and the other up his side. He looked down at him, steady, breathing heavily, so in control and yet so ready to break. Dean felt that this was Cas’ face at its most honest – put together but vulnerable just underneath, ready to take care of anyone and everything while still hurting himself.

            Dean reached up and caressed Cas’ cheek. He closed his eyes at contact and he bent his head, letting out a heavy exhale. Dean chuckled. He brushed his thumb over Cas’ lips. “I have been told my ass is pretty nice.”

            Cas laughed. “I must say, I agree with the reviews.”

            “Mmm, am I already getting five stars?”

            “Yeah and a letter to Penthouse.”

            Dean smiled, laughter rumbling in his chest but not quite leaving his lips. “Come on,” he said, soft. “I’m ready.”

            “I’m not.”

            Dean raised one eyebrow. Then he tried testing the extent of his movement just to find it pretty much non-existent. With his one leg over Cas’ shoulder and his hip pinned down by Cas’ hand, he had just enough room to wiggle. Which made Cas laugh but didn’t do much else.

            Cas bent his head down and lay three, soft kisses down the length of Dean’s sternum. Then he shifted back an inch or so and moved back in. He started out slow, pulling out a little more each time and pushing back in with more force. Dean did his best to swallow the slow moans that rumbled up his throat as every nerve in his ass burned.

            When Cas pulled almost all the way out, he slammed in with more force and Dean felt his breath leave of him. The next time, Cas hit his prostate and Dean cursed loudly enough he was sure the paparazzi outside heard him. “Shh,” Cas whispered. He pressed his fingers over Dean’s lips on the next thrust and, on the fourth, Dean opened his mouth and sucked on his fingertips.

            He heard Cas moan in response, his next thrust a little more erratic. Dean liked it better that way, liked knowing he could do so little and still make Cas lose control. He closed his eyes, letting the sensation wash over him, every thrust jostling him and sending pleasure flooding through his veins. Cas’ hands wandered over his chest and down his thighs but stayed far away from his dick.

            Everything Cas did was slow, methodical, measured, and patient. Dean hated it. He hated waiting for the next burst of pleasure, for the touch of Cas’ fingers on his ribs, for what he wanted. And as much as he appreciated Cas’ attempt to drag this out, to make it last as long as it possibly could, Dean’s whole body was on fire with sweat and pleasure and aching arousal. He wanted to come more than anything else.

            He popped his lips off Cas’ fingers and arched his back as Cas hit his prostate again. Groaning, he said, “Cas... Cas, please. Fuck.”

            “Please, what?” His voice was so low, barely a whisper. The words, probably meant to sound cocky, felt like a desperate man gasping for air.

            “Touch me.”

            Cas let out a sound somewhere between a whimper and a moan. His fingers made their way down to Dean’s hips and his thrusts slowed. Gently, he wrapped his hand around Dean’s cock. With his next thrust, he gave a sharp pull with his hand and Dean cursed Cas’ name the way he might the devil’s.

            Whatever control Cas had broke. He moved faster, harder, still hitting Dean’s prostate every time. Dean came fast and messy between them, whimpering and groaning and begging. So much begging left his lips, enough to be embarrassed about in the morning. But as Cas kept his hips moving, Dean had little brainpower left to dedicate to worrying about when the sun rose. His whole body shook. He tasted sweat on his tongue. He still had trouble catching his breath.

            Then Cas came, warm and messy inside him, and Dean exhaled all the air in his body. He felt Cas’ warm breath fall over his face as he gave a few last thrusts and then pulled out. “Fuck,” he said, “I’m...”

            “No.” Dean grasped his face and kissed him. Their teeth clanked together and he had to kiss him again for their lips to meet right. “Jesus, fuck. Don’t apologize.”

            Cas let out a breathless little laugh right against Dean’s lips. He kissed him, then his cheek, then his jaw. And before Dean knew what he was doing, he’d dipped his kisses across his dick and then down into his asshole to lick the come out. Dean whimpered as Cas’ tongue scraped across the sensitive skin.

            When he finished, he rolled over and lay beside Dean on the mattress. Dean closed his eyes and focused on catching his breath again. Sweat covered every inch of his skin and the come Cas missed dried sticky against his thighs. Still, he resisted the urge to move for just a few minutes more, taking in the sound of his heartbeat in his ears and their synchronized breathing.

            Then he stood and went to the bathroom. He took a quick shower. When he stepped back into his bedroom, he half expected Cas to be gone. But he’d rolled onto his side and curled up tight around a pillow. His breath had softened, steadied, and he seemed to be fast asleep.

            Dean watched him for a second, then approached. He crawled into the bed behind him and kissed his shoulder. Cas hummed appreciatively. “Take a shower,” Dean whispered.

            “I’ll shower in the morning,” Cas mumbled.

            Dean sighed and kissed his spine, curling closer. Without much fight left in his voice, he slung his arm over Cas’ torso and said, “You’ll wake up in the middle of the night feeling gross.”

            Cas shifted further into Dean’s grip. “I won’t move.”

            Dean kissed the nape of his neck, breathed in the sweaty sent of him, and let his eyes close. His breath matched the steady pace of Cas’ without even trying and, within seconds, he’d fallen fast asleep.


	30. Chapter 30

In the light of day, what had been a bad idea last night felt like a brilliant one. Cas had pushed past his every fear and insecurity the day before just to do one thing he actually wanted to and it was hard to see the potential negative consequences of that when he woke up to Dean’s lips on his.

            Last night, he’d taken control. It seemed Dean wanted that role back now, as his kisses were once again breathless and breathtaking, impossible to break and harder to want to break. Dean’s hands explored his chest as their legs tangled under the sheets, making it all too obvious to Cas what the source of Dean’s sudden affection was.

            When Dean broke the kiss, Cas said, “Good morning to you too.”

            Dean smiled, bright and brilliant. Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the white room in an angelic light. Dean’s skin looked tan against the sheets, his stubble taking on a more beard-like quality now that it was two days in. It burned against Cas’ lips, tickled his chin.

            “You didn’t move,” Dean said.

            Cas shook his head. “I’ve never slept better.”

            Suddenly, the alarm on his phone went off. Cas startled and turned to grab his phone, shutting off the alarm. He flopped his head back onto the pillow with a sigh. “I have to get to work.”

            “Be late.”

            Cas chuckled as Dean started to kiss his neck. “I can’t. It’s the second day.”

            Dean groaned. His teeth grazed Cas’ neck.

            “Don’t,” Cas said. “Not only are we not teenagers, I have to be on a movie set all week.”

            Dean laughed and met Cas’ eyes. “Be late.”

            “We can do this later.”

            “No,” Dean said, “you can go to work later.” Then he kissed the argument right off Cas’ lips as he rolled over him, his weight and warmth sinking Cas down into the mattress.

            Cas groaned, half in protest, as Dean grabbed his wrist and pinned it above his head. Then he moved Cas’ other hand too and held them both down with one hand as he kissed Cas’ neck. Cas hummed his approval, letting his sleepiness overwhelm his desire to fight back as Dean’s kisses grazed lower.

            He let go of Cas’ hands but Cas didn’t move them as Dean’s lips and teeth grazed down his stomach. Dean’s hands spread over Cas’ thighs as he kissed lower, then swiped his tongue down Cas’ shaft. He suckled at the head as Cas groaned. Instinctively, he tried to pull up his legs but Dean held them down. Without much hesitation or preparation, Dean took all of Cas’ length into his mouth and then swirled his tongue on the way down.

            An embarrassing whimper left Cas’ lips but he supposed he’d made enough of those by now. As he watched Dean suck his cock, he spared a moment to realize how surreal it all was. Last night had felt almost like a dream, that half-conscious state between waking and asleep. But now, the sunlight streamed through the windows and Cas could feel every inch of Dean’s tongue and there was nothing left to the imagination anymore.

            “Why are you so good at that?” Cas mumbled.

            Dean popped off with a grin. “Thought you said I wasn’t good with my mouth?”

            “Shut up.”

            Dean kissed the bottom of Cas’ stomach, the crook of his hip. “Take it back,” he said, “or I’ll stop.”

            “You should stop if you still want to fuck me.”

            “Stubborn asshole.” Dean shifted and crawled back over Cas. He held his weight over Cas’ body, slotting a leg between Cas’ thighs. The pressure made Cas groan. Dean pressed his thumb against Cas’ lips. “It’s not the end of the world, babe. Just admit I’m good with my mouth.”

            Cas smiled but shook his head.

            Dean shrugged. “Then I guess I won’t use it again.”

            “What?”

            Dean sat back on his haunches and reached for the lube on the bedside table. He spread it on his fingers, the sickening strawberry scent filling the air, and then started to stroke his own cock. Cas reached out to hold his hips steady but barely managed to touch Dean’s thighs. He let his fingertips play along the skin, just watching as Dean bit his bottom lip and his eyes fluttered closed.

            “I could do that for you,” Cas said after a moment when the pressure between his legs reminded him he was an active participant. Staring at Dean, glistening in the morning light, arm moving up and down, his shaft growing steadily as he worked, made Cas shift downwards. He rubbed his erection up against Dean’s thigh, earning himself a curious look. He smiled at Dean.

            “No.” Dean adjusted his positioning, straddling Cas’ legs and then reached in between them. Cas bit his tongue in an effort not to curse as Dean wrapped both their cocks in his hand and started to jack them off in tandem. “I’m doing all the work here.”

            Cas groaned. “What happened to the guy I fucked last night?” He bucked his hips and Dean immediately pushed down against him, hard enough to bruise. Cas whimpered. “You seemed perfectly happy to let me take control then.”

            “I have less energy at night.”

            “We slept like four hours. I don’t see how—” Cas bit his lip hard as Dean twisted his fist.

            “Don’t see how what?”

            Cas glared up at him. He tasted a metallic tang on his tongue and swallowed down the bitterness. “You’re wasting the lube,” he said instead.

            “Lube really doesn’t cost that much.” As if to prove his point, Dean poured more of it over his fingers and added it to the sticky mess of their cocks. He shifted a little and his exhale coming out unsteady – the only real sign he wasn’t as in control as he pretended to be.

            Cas propped himself up on his elbows and then sat up altogether. Dean’s grip slipped as Cas started to kiss his chest, Dean’s cock rubbing against his collarbones. Dean shifted back to sit and Cas kissed up his neck, moving with him, following him with his tongue. He held on to Dean’s shoulders, moved his hands down his arms, and then moved to kiss his lips.

            Dean pulled back. “No.”

            “No?”

            “You said you didn’t like my mouth that much.”

            Cas threw his head back with a sigh. “And I’m the one who’s stubborn?”

            “I prefer petty.” He pushed Cas back onto the bed and then stepped off of it. He swatted at Cas’ thigh half-heartedly. “Turn over.”

            Cas, despite himself, did what he was told, trapping his aching cock underneath him. He groaned at the sensation of soft fabric against sensitive skin but when he ground down, Dean swatted at him again. This time, his open hand landed against his ass – not a hard hit, but enough to sting.

            “Fuck,” Cas breathed out. He heard the sound of lube being squirted out and turned his head to look at Dean. In profile, he looked somewhere between a Roman statue and an underwear model minus the underwear. Cas licked his lips. “You gonna keep me waiting?”

            Dean tilted his head, considering. “I could leave you there,” he said. “I do have a concert rehearsal to get to.”

            Cas propped his chin up on his arm. “Be late.”

            “Make it worth my while.”

            Cas wiggled on top of the sheets. “Thought I already was.”

            Dean chuckled. He swung his leg over Cas, straddling his legs once again, and dipped a lube-covered finger along the crack of his ass. He swirled his fingertip around the hole’s opening, light and teasing, ignoring the sounds Cas made. Slowly, he moved in, swirling his finger methodically.

            Cas shifted back and Dean grabbed his ass, pushing him deeper into the mattress. “Patience,” he said with an edge to his voice.

            “Unlike you,” Cas said, “I do this a lot.”

            Dean laughed as he added a second finger. “I doubt that. I bet you haven’t even had sex since your wife left you.”

            “That was almost three years ago.”

            Dean made no sound and Cas felt his cheeks burn red. He buried his face into the pillow, bit down against the moan making its way up his throat, and mumbled, “Is it really that obvious?”

            Dean chuckled. “Wouldn’t have known if you hadn’t admitted it.” He slipped in a third finger with relative ease and stretched the hole. “You are really fucking loose back here.”

            Cas hummed against the pillow. “I have a dildo.”

            Dean stopped moving.

            “Dean?”

            Cas tried to turn his head to see the other man but the angle was no good. Three fingers were inside him, still but curling upwards in the slow manner of a hand at rest. Cas shifted his hips a bit and got no rebuke.

            “Dean, are you okay?”

            Dean coughed and dug his fingers in. Cas nearly screamed but just managed to choke back the sound as Dean hit his prostate. He massaged his fingers against it with each stroke, his breath heavier now, and the bed shook a little with each movement.

            Cas groaned as Dean pulled his fingers out. He grabbed one of Cas’ hips and settled closer, his knees pushing Cas’ thighs further apart. “Are you ready?” Dean asked.

            “Yeah.”

            The word was barely out before Dean slipped into him. If Cas had expected Dean to be gentle, if any part of him had imagined that Dean wasn’t the sex god the tabloids made him out to be, those thoughts were fucked right out of him. Dean thrust in fast, his whole length filling Cas easily, and he pulled out without spending much time adjusting.

            Cas didn’t mind. It was hard to mind when he was getting fucked right into the mattress, the springs squeaking, Dean’s hands molding bruises into his hips. He bit into the pillow to keep from screaming and to stop himself from cleaving his tongue in two. Dean cursed behind him, his hands roaming up his back, nails scratching down his spine.

            Cas mumbled a litany of curse words and prayers into the pillow. His cock ached against the mattress and rubbed against it with every hard thrust. Pleasure beat through the nerve endings of his body, singing through his sore muscles and up his throat. He pressed his forehead into the pillow just to create enough space to breathe.

            “Dean...” he managed, just barely. His voice sounded raw.

            Dean hummed in response.

            “Fuck,” Cas whined. “Dean.”

            “You all right?” Dean asked, the words coming out on huffed breaths.

            Cas tried to nod but his whole body was shaking already. “Yes,” he managed. “Just... fuck. Dean... I....” His orgasm snuck up on him, suddenly bursting hot in his balls as he came messily against the sheets and his own chest. He whimpered into the sensation, burying his face in the pillow as Dean continued to pound into him. “I love you. Shit. Fuck.”

            Dean’s fingers wound through his hair and pulled at it as he chased his own orgasm. Cas felt his eyelids flicker closed, the whole morning become hazy as he felt the wet spot his mouth had made on the pillow against his cheek. “Dean...” he mumbled.

            Dean came; hot and sticky come flooded into Cas. He groaned as Dean pulled out, still dripping. Cas tried to push himself further into the mattress as the heat of Dean’s body left him, as the springs gave a final squeak as Dean stood up. A few moments later, a wet washcloth wiped down his thighs and up into his ass. Dean kissed the base of his spine.

            “We probably should have used condoms,” Dean said.

            Cas let out a small, choked sound. “Too late now.”

            “Will you at least shower this time?”

            “Once I can move.”

            Dean chuckled. “Sorry about that.”

            “Don’t apologize.” Cas closed his eyes tight and felt his whole body continue to vibrate. He was suddenly exhausted, like he’d spent the whole night awake and getting fucked. He reached out and checked the time on his phone. Barely thirty minutes had passed. He pressed his face back into the pillow.

            “You can probably make it on time if you hurry,” Dean suggested.

            “Fuck off.”

            Dean sat down on the edge of the bed and ran his hand down the length of Cas’ spine. Cas groaned into the sensation, feeling sleepy and like he’d be happy if he never moved again. He wondered if he never left the bed if they could pretend twenty-four hours never ended and that instead of counting single times having sex, they were counting events. From last night to now could be once.

            He opened his mouth to suggest this to Dean when Dean leaned in and kissed his shoulder. Cas turned his head to look at him, those green eyes so close, his body sweaty and glistening. He pressed his lips into Dean’s before Dean could pull away and Dean kissed back soft, eager.

            “Take a shower,” Dean whispered.

            Cas groaned but allowed Dean to pull him out of bed. He stumbled his first two steps, then rubbed at his eyes as he started steadily towards Dean’s bathroom. He watched his feet as he walked. He felt like he could feel Dean’s eyes on him, watching him, wondering. Cas felt his heartbeat slowing in his chest. He wanted nothing more to turn around, kiss Dean, and tell him he wanted to do this again. And again. And again.

            After he turned on the shower, he watched the hot water steam up the glass doors. Then he stepped inside. As he washed off Dean’s scent, he felt his body relax. His muscles eased. His head cleared. The warm sunlight and hot water made him feel rejuvenated and he recommitted himself to this being a two-time thing. They were business partners, nothing more.

            Cas stepped out of the shower and was promptly hit by a towel Dean threw at him. He caught it, only slightly fumbling the catch, and wiped the water out of his eyes. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

            When he looked up, Dean’s hair was wet and he was half-dressed.

            “I used the other bathroom,” Dean said when he caught him staring. “You take long showers.”

            “I don’t...” Cas trailed off. Maybe he did take long showers. The sun seemed further up in the sky now and he wondered how late he was going to be.

            Dean gestured at a cup of coffee on top of the dresser. “That’s yours.”

            Cas wrapped the towel around his waist and then glugged half of the coffee. He’d never been much for black coffee but, at the moment, it hit the spot. As he pinched the bridge of his nose, he tried hard to focus on the day ahead even as memories of the last twelve hours flooded through him. He could barely remember the catalyst. All that seemed real was Dean’s hands on him, his lips, the flush of his cock.

            “Did I...” Cas sighed as he remembered the words coming off his lips. “Fuck.”

            Dean shot him an amused look. “Let me guess,” he said, “you don’t actually love me?”

            Cas glared at him.

            “I figured.” Dean approached and patted him on the back. He then immediately started towards the door. “I’ll see you at the concert tonight, babe.”

            Cas flipped him off even though he was already out of the room. With a sigh, Cas picked up his coffee and his phone before heading into his own room. He got dressed quickly, poured his coffee into a travel mug, and then headed outside. Mercifully, the yard was free of reporters and the car from the studio idled on the curb.

            “You’re late,” the driver said, sounding like he couldn’t possibly care less.

            “If you speed, can you get us there on time?”

            The driver met his eyes in the rear-view mirror. “It’s already eight-twenty.”

            Cas took in that information with a blank face, then nodded. The car pulled off the curb and Cas did his best to mentally compose an apology for being almost half an hour late. At least they weren’t stopped at the gate this time but Anna didn’t run out to greet him either. Cas considered paging her – maybe she could come up with a feasible excuse that wouldn’t get him fired – but thought better of it.

            He checked in at the front door and immediately ran into Bobby.

            “Mr. Singer,” Cas said. He swallowed hard, blinked. “I’m so—”

            “Swallow whatever bullshit you’re about to spin,” he snapped. “You’re late. And as I told your illustrious co-star yesterday, when you’re late, you don’t apologize to me. You tell me why you’re late and I’ll decide if it’s a worthwhile waste of my fucking precious time.”

            Cas blinked at him.

            “So?”

            There were a lot of lies Cas could think of – his alarm didn’t go off, traffic, paparazzi flooding the front lawn – but he settled on the truth. After all, it had both the simplicity of giving him no lie to remember and would probably make it pretty hard for Bobby to yell at him.

            Still, Cas’ modesty got the better of him. “I was otherwise occupied.”

            “Doing what?”

            Cas raised an eyebrow.

             “Spit it out, boy.”

            “I was getting fucked into the mattress.”

            Bobby stared at him for a long moment, blank as a slate. Then, he said, “Don’t tell me why you’re late anymore,” and walked off in a huff.

            Despite himself, Cas felt a smile curl onto his lips. He headed towards his dressing room and Anna met him halfway with a cup of coffee and new pages for the script. She launched into a rundown of the day, pushing back the timeline as she spoke to adjust for his lateness. At the door to his dressing room, she said, “How long should I tell them until you’ll be on set?”

            Cas opened the door, dropped his wallet and keys onto a table, and said, “Which set?”

            “The kitchen,” she said. “Set B.”

            “Two seconds?” Cas started walking and he heard Anna scrambling to say something into the microphone as she kept pace with him. He could see just the edge of the kitchen set, Bobby waiting in his director’s chair, and a few cameramen adjusting their lenses. On set, two stand-ins waited patiently while the cameras shifted only half inches.

            “Nice of you to join us,” Balthazar’s voice boomed out.

            Cas took a sip of his coffee as he caught sight of the other man in full costume. He’d forgotten that part – wardrobe, makeup, not showing up to set in old jeans and a t-shirt he was pretty sure was Dean’s – but he faked a smile pretty well. “Sorry,” he said, “I thought I’d still beat you here.”

            “As our fearless leader made perfectly clear to me yesterday and perhaps to you this morning, my usual diva antics won’t be tolerated here.” Balthazar tipped his head to one side, a poisonous smile on his lips. “Don’t tell me your boyfriend’s bad habits are rubbing off on you?”

            “I’m still a beacon of professionalism.” Cas set down his coffee and took a step away from the set. “After all, I agreed to work with you.”

            Balthazar opened his mouth with some smart ass comment no doubt on his tongue, but Bobby cut him off. “Boys,” he said gruffly, “save the thinly-veiled hatred for the cameras, would you?”

            “Hatred?” Balthazar had the gall to sound shocked. He took a step towards Cas’, one hand on his chest as if his heart was about to give out. Cas half hoped it would. “Nonsense. Castiel and I go way back.”

            Cas met his eyes and nodded. “You could even say we’re old friends.”

            “More than that. Brothers.”

            Bobby craned his neck to look back at both of them. “Are the two of you making fucking Bible jokes?”

            Both of them quickly shook their heads, Cas barely managing to hide his smile. Balthazar took his coffee from him and Cas let him as he started towards hair and makeup. While Balthazar was the worst thing currently in his life, Cas at least found joy in the fact that they both had stupid names.


	31. Chapter 31

Dean stood onstage under the burning lights listening to the crowd scream the lyrics to his song. He was so out of breath he could barely get the words out but the crowd knew every line. Even after two hours, their voices were going strong. Dean held the microphone out to them as he sipped water and the final notes of the song played.

            “Thank you, Los Angeles!” he shouted. The crowd roared. He felt his cheeks flush hot and he fanned out the bottom of his shirt. “You’ve been a great crowd tonight. I’m so happy to be here, in my hometown, for the last concert on this tour. It’s been a wild ride and I’d just like to thank fans like you for supporting me.”

            He coughed against his hand, downed the rest of the water bottle, and crinkled it up in his hand. “Since this is my hometown and all of y’all have been so good to me tonight, I thought we’d close out this concert with something a little different than usual.”

            The crowd screamed. Dean smiled back at them. Even exhausted, sweaty, and with his legs trembling like jelly, he felt their excitement flooding into him. “As you all probably know, my boyfriend lives here with me in L.A. and...” he trailed off as the crowd threatened to drown out even the projection of the microphone. “I know. I get it. You love Cas. I do too.”

            An overwhelming chorus of wolf-whistles filled the stadium.

            “All right. Fuck off.” Dean waited a second longer, licking his lips. He glanced into the wings of the stage where Cas stood with his arms crossed, yawning. Dean felt his heart involuntarily skip a beat and he beat it back down. Last night had meant nothing. It was what he had wanted from the start. To fuck it out of his system.

            “I have a surprise for you guys,” Dean said to the crowd, “and it’s going to involve bringing my darling boyfriend up onto the...” As he glanced to the wings, he saw Cas turn around and head out of sight. “Umm... okay, he’s running away from me...” The crowd laughed. “Can someone please... ah, there he is. A lovely stagehand has caught him. Round of applause, please!”

            The crowd clapped loud enough for Dean to wince even though he was wearing earplugs. The stagehand pushed Cas out onto the stage, far enough for Dean to wrap an arm around his shoulders and hold him in place. He asked the stagehand to bring out a chair, then turned to Cas with a smile on his face. Cas looked back at him with blank curiosity and a furrowed eyebrow.

            “What are you doing?” Cas asked.

            “You’ll see.” Dean pulled him close and kissed him on the cheek as the crowd roared. The stagehand brought out the chair and Cas sat without protest. Dean stepped up to him. “Cas, darling, are you excited to be out here with me tonight?” He offered him the microphone.

            “If by excited, you mean terrified.”

            “I promise you’ll like this.”

            “I already don’t.”

            The crowd _ooohed_ as Dean laughed. “Looks like I’m sleeping on the couch tonight.” He licked his lips, smiling, then hooked the microphone back onto its stand. He glanced back at Cas. “I actually have it on pretty good authority that you will like this. In fact, your daughter confirmed this was one of your favourite songs, so I thought I’d play it for you tonight, babe. As a special treat.”

            The crowd cheered and Cas raised an eyebrow at him. Dean gestured for the band to start as the noise from the audience began to fade.

            _“I found a love,”_ Dean sang, watching Cas’ eyes light up, _“For me. Darling, just dive right in, follow my lead.”_

The crowd exploded into whoops and cheers as many others shushed those who dared to scream. Dean kept singing as he looked at Cas, watching the other man’s smile fight its way across his lips. As the chorus started, he pulled the mic off the stand and walked over to Cas.

            _“Baby, I... am dancing in the dark.”_ He offered a hand to Cas, who took it, and Dean wrapped his arms around him. It was a little hard to slow dance while still holding the microphone, but with Cas’ arms wrapped around his hips and his one arm slung around Cas’ shoulders, they made it work. _“With you between my arms, barefoot in the grass, listening to our favourite song.”_

Cas laughed slightly and Dean almost lost his breath. In the slight musical break, he gave him a soft kiss and let him go. Stepping back, he sang, _“I found a man, stronger than anyone I know.”_ He kept hold just of Cas’ fingers as he stepped further from him and turned out to face the crowd. He’d known even in planning this he’d be unable to sing about having children right to Cas’ face.

            When the chorus came back around, he encouraged the crowd to join in, their voices blending into a lovely melody. Cas had sat back down and Dean went over to him, draping his arms over him from behind. He kissed his cheek and sang into his ear as the song continued. Cas’ hands came up onto his arms, squeezing them lightly.

            _“I don’t deserve this. Darling, you look perfect tonight.”_

Then, without warning, when the chorus came around for the last time, Cas started to laugh. And Dean couldn’t help it, looking at Cas with his eyes so bright and smile so wide, he started to laugh too. “No,” Cas protested, “You have to keep singing.”

            “Not if you’re laughing at me.”

            Cas’ hand curled around his on the microphone and he pulled it away. Getting out of the chair, he caught on right in the middle of the last chorus, singing, _“Now I know I have met an angel in person_. _”_ The crowd laughed as he came in a little off pitch, his voice gravelly and low at the late hour. _“And he looks perfect. I don’t deserve this.”_

Dean managed to step forward and grab the microphone too, but Cas kept his grip tight. They finished the song’s last line together, _“You look perfect tonight,”_ before dissolving into laughter. Dean dropped the microphone and pulled Cas into a kiss, his lips soft and fleeting as his smile broke their embrace.

            Dean held him close all the same, his fingers running through the hairs at the nape of Cas’ neck as the crowd screamed and the white lights faded into nothingness.

 

The drive home was the kind of comfortable quiet Dean was wholly unused to but thought he might be able to live in. He dozed against the window as Cas clicked away on his phone. The photographers and reporters screamed at them as they made their way up to the front door, hands intertwined but otherwise exhausted, sweaty, and quiet as they stumbled inside.

            Dean fell against the door as he closed it. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he said, “What’s the news?”

            Cas chuckled a little and sat on the arm of a chair, the tips of his toes just brushing the ground. “Twitter loves it,” he said. “Bad cell phone video is leaking everywhere... Ed Sheeran retweeted it and thanked you for butchering his song...” He bit his bottom lip to keep from smiling. “People are cracking up at a stagehand having to pull me onstage.”

            Dean felt it too – the infectious urge to smile. It was like the post-concert high but focused, trained directly on Cas and that feeling of being up on stage with him. Dean had never experienced being in a bubble with just one person, completely private, his heart bared, while also being surrounded by hundreds of thousands of fans. He’d wanted to stay in it forever, hence the stagehands that had started packing up around them after the lights had gone out and Chuck pulling them into the wings so the lights could go up and people could leave their seats.

            “Why did you run?” Dean said.

            Cas shrugged. “You just told me to come to the concert. You didn’t say you were bringing me onstage.”

            “So?” He took a step closer, smiling. “What’d you think I was going to do to you?”

            Cas shook his head.

            Dean kicked the side of his foot, no more than a light tap. Cas’ blue eyes lifted to meet his, the smile all over his face, and Dean felt happiness the way he was supposed to. No barriers, no worries, just the bubble of late night haze shared with someone who knew exactly what was running through his veins, who knew all his secrets and still wanted to stick around.

            Dean cleared his throat and looked away. “It’s a pretty accurate song for us.”

            “Except for the whole ‘falling in love as kids’ thing.”

            “Just as kids?”

            The glance Cas gave him was all mischief and exhaustion, not a hint of rebuke. “At all,” he said, “but the rest of it, I suppose, is pretty on the nose. We make a good team.”

            Dean watched his eyes for a moment, watched the entire tired slump of his body. He was so close. Dean could reach out, tilt his chin up, and kiss him, just like that. It would be so easy to fall right back into last night, to pretend they’d never said it was a one-time thing, to act like the word _fake_ was no longer in their relationship.

             “Charlie cried.”

            “What?”

            When Cas looked up again, his expression was almost completely closed off. Dean felt his heart sink an inch, maybe more, and schooled his expression into the same poker face. Cas repeated, “She cried. She was watching a live stream of the concert and she actually burst into tears. She thinks people would riot if they ever found out the truth.”

            “Right.” Dean took a step back. The bubble burst with an almost audible sound. He cleared his throat. “Well, I should get to sleep.”

            “ _I_ should get to sleep.” Cas got to his feet. He blinked hard and shoved his phone back in his pocket. “I have to be back on set in six hours.”

            “Good luck with that.”

            “Oh, and the studio wants to do our scene on Monday. Does that work for you?”

            “Sure.”

            Cas nodded, raised his hand in an awkward wave, and then turned for the stairs. Dean watched him go, each of his steps heavy, one of his hands resting against the railing. Half of Dean’s brain wanted to berate him for not making a move – if there had ever been a better time than right after serenading a person, Dean hadn’t found it – but the other half praised his self-restraint, reminded him he’d done the right thing and let Cas go.

            With a sigh, Dean turned away from the stairs. He knew he wouldn’t get any sleep that night so, instead, he turned down a rarely used hallway and made his way into the studio he’d built inside his house. He sat down heavily on the leather stool, picked up his favourite acoustic guitar, and started to tune the strings.


	32. Chapter 32

Days passed in relative quiet. Cas went to set, fought with Balthazar, got through scenes, and napped in his dressing room. He got along well with Bobby, Anna, and the rest of the cast and crew. Every few mornings, he’d have a sleepless night and come to set armed with a large coffee and dark sunglasses – that’s when the makeup team really earned their money. But he settled into the life of filming a movie with relative ease, just like riding a bike.

            He barely saw Dean and perhaps that was for the best. Ever since they’d slept together, the energy between them seemed to be buzzing in the air. Maybe it’d always been like that but now Cas could actually _hear_ the tension between them. When he did run into Dean, usually late at night or early in the morning, he couldn’t help but catalogue every muscle he had and the ways he knew they moved. Dean looked sleepy and kept odd hours but he always had a weak smile and a few words to share.

            Sometimes, Cas went a day or two without seeing him and he missed him. They lived in the same house but he missed him.

            Charlie came to visit him on set at the end of the first week. Cas sat in a makeup chair trying not to blink while the woman applied mascara to “make his eyes pop.” Charlie slipped silently into the seat beside him, her smile wide, and said, “How’s my favourite movie star?”

            “Better now that you’re here.”

            “I haven’t heard any rumours that you and Balthazar are fighting on set, so that’s good.”

            Cas shrugged. “We barely interact outside scenes,” he lied. There was always a barb or two to be shared between him and Balthazar, a sly comment about Kelly or the kids, a flip of the bird or a nastier gesture if warranted. “And our chemistry is better than expected.” Not a lie. They’d yet to film any scenes where they had to kiss or go further but they sparked on screen, lines flying off each other, subtle fights brewing behind every word – even their happy scenes brimmed with an undertone of potential violence.

            Cas blinked fast as the woman pulled away with a considering expression. He looked up at her, she nodded, and he slipped out of the chair. Charlie looped her arm through his as he headed towards Set A – the basement cellar. Balthazar was, mercifully, not part of this scene. But the three ghost brides were, already standing there in their pale makeup, gossiping while the cameras adjusted around the stand-ins.

            “I’ve been talking to Sam,” Charlie said.

            “And?”

             “The rumours still aren’t going away. In fact, they seem to be picking up speed. That concert stunt helped for a while. A lot of people couldn’t believe you two could be so intimate without being... well, _intimate._ ”

            Cas tried to roll his eyes but ended up looking away from her so she wouldn’t see the lie written all over his face. “But?” he prompted as he flopped down into his chair behind the cameras.

            She stopped in front of him. “Conspiracy theories are a bitch? I don’t know.” She looked down at her phone and typed something out. While the page loaded, she turned the screen towards Cas. “Sam’s working on something. Probably an interview for you two to showcase how little sexual tension you have or at least address the rumours. I think he wants to do some sort of staged photo shoot too but... it’s a weird situation. There’s no precedent for it.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Usually publicists only deal with this stuff when rumours of a relationship _starting_ are coming out, or rumours of an affair. Your relationship is a given. There’s nothing to hide or confirm there. So trying to prove you’re having sex without releasing a sex tape is... ridiculous. Immature. Uncalled for. Pick your adjective.”

            Cas reached out and squeezed her hand. “Everything will be fine.”

            Bobby walked onto set, asked after the positioning of the cameras, and waved the stand-ins off set. Cas stood, kissed Charlie on the cheek, and promised her that Sam would figure it out – it was what they paid him for, after all. Then he stepped onto set and took his seat on the floor over a stripe of green tape.

            Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and looked up at the ghost brides with new eyes. If he tried, he could see them how the special effects team would make them up – floating an inch or so off the ground, wispy other-world fog rolling off them, black pits for eyes – and he shivered. When Bobby called for action, he waited a beat and then said his first line. “Please,” he begged, “I would never hurt him. You have to believe me.”

 

Cas woke in the middle of the night to nothing in particular. Perhaps it was the cold in the room – late October had turned chilly and the blankets were rarely enough – or maybe it was the house settling. Maybe it was nothing. For a few minutes, Cas lay on his side with his eyes closed, trying to fall back to sleep. Then he checked the time on his phone. _1:32_

With a sigh, Cas got out of bed and made his way into the bathroom. He splashed warm water onto his face, used the toilet, and stared at himself in the mirror for a long moment. Dark circles had formed under his eyes in a way he was starting to believe even the makeup artists couldn’t cover up. Maybe it would work for the movie – as time went on, Michael got less and less sleep and he started to lose his mind. Cas could method act if he had to.

            He tried to go back to sleep and spent nearly half an hour awake in bed. Then he got up again. Went to the bathroom again. Examined the lines of his face again. He stepped out into the hall, his eyes adjusting back to the darkness after the harsh bathroom light, and saw that Dean’s door was ajar. He stepped forward, knocked, and the door swung open. Dean’s bed was empty.

            Cas felt an emptiness in his chest he couldn’t quite explain. He stumbled down the stairs to grab a snack from the kitchen and then continued to wander through the house. At the end of a small hall, he saw a light on so he headed towards it to find another door open just a touch. He pushed it open with the pads of his fingers.

            Inside was a fully decked-out studio. The sound panel in the first room looked the same as the one Cas had seen in the label’s Texas office and, beyond it, behind a pane of glass, was a small room filled with various guitars and microphones. Dean sat off to one side playing notes on an acoustic guitar. Sometimes he went through what seemed to be the bridge of a song. Sometimes he played only a few notes in a row. Then he’d duck his head and make a note in the notebook sitting on a stool beside him.

            The door between the outer studio and the inner studio was open too, so Cas approached. He leaned in the doorway and just watched Dean work for a moment. His fingers moved over the strings with practiced ease, not even faltering when he yawned. He made another note in the book, changed the bridge a little, then played it back the original way.

            “I like the second one better.”

            Dean looked up, not even startled. His eyes looked tired, pulled down, just like Cas’ had in the mirror. “Couldn’t sleep?” Dean said.

            Cas nodded and stepped into the room. “Do you usually write in the middle of the night?”

            “Yes, actually.” Dean moved the notebook and patted the stool next to him.

            Cas took the seat and looped his feet under the stool’s footrest. He stared at the guitar as Dean played a few more notes, balancing the notebook on his knees. When it started to slip, Cas took it from him and let his eyes slip over the musical notes and half-written lyrics.

            “What’s the song about?”

            Dean said nothing.

            Smiling just a little, Cas jostled him and said, “What? Is it about me?”

            “No.” He blushed.

            “You can tell me,” Cas said, feeling a little braver. He wasn’t sure why night time felt so safe with Dean, why he got close to him with all the lights out and then messed it all up when the sun rose. “I won’t tease you about it.”

            “Liar.” The edge of Dean’s mouth turned up. He tried to strum but missed the strings, his hand shaking.

            Cas watched him for a moment before saying again, “You can tell me.”

            “It’s about Ben.”

            “Oh.”

            Dean strung a few more notes together and then took the notebook back from Cas. Leaning over his guitar, he made notations with the pen cap wedged between his front teeth. Cas wanted a photo of it, part of him thinking about Instagram and album promotion, but more of him focused on how at ease Dean looked just then. How much he looked like a real artist instead of the sweaty, sexed-up rock star the world wanted him to be. Cas wanted to capture the truth for everyone, not just his own eyes.

            “Do you want to hear it?”

            Cas met Dean’s eyes. “Only if you want to.”

            Dean focused on his guitar. He flipped the notebook back a page, rested it on Cas’ lap so he could still see it, and started to play. He flubbed the first few notes, took a breath, and restarted.

            The intro was long and slow, like the beginning of a classical piece. Cas felt himself drawn in by the slow build of the music before Dean’s voice left his lips, softer and quieter than Cas had ever heard him sing.

            _“Stars go out sometimes, that I know.”_ He cleared his throat and stopped playing for a moment but picked it up before Cas could interrupt. _“They leave holes in the night sky, holes in our universe, but sometimes I think I’m the only one who sees the hole you left behind.”_

            Dean played a few notes not quite in line with the song. “I’m still trying to figure out the hook, but then the chorus starts...” He started in on a long section of music, stopped, then said, “I’m thinking something like...” He started the section again.

            _“One day, I’ll stop missing you. One day, and I hope it’s not too soon, I won’t see your face, in every picture on the news. One day, I’ll stop missing you.”_

Cas blinked back the tears forming in his eyes and did his best to put on a soft smile as Dean looked up at him. It was harder than he thought it might be, thinking of Ben and sitting a foot away from Dean. “You’re allowed to miss him, you know,” Cas said, hoping his voice wasn’t too quiet.

            “I know.” Dean sighed and settled his guitar back onto its stand. He stared at it for a long moment, facing away from Cas. “But I just... I guess some part of me thought it would stop hurting faster. I... I got over my parents’ deaths faster.”

            Cas reached out and took Dean’s hand, squeezing tight. “You had to,” he said. “First, for Sam, and then because I imagine... trying to remember loving your father after everything, after being apart from him for so long was... too hard.” Cas licked his lips. “But you’re allowed to feel pain for as long as you need to.”

            “But I don’t want to.”           

            “No one wants to.”

            Cas let the silence hang between them but didn’t let go of Dean’s hand. After a moment, Dean slipped out of his grasp, stood up, and took the notebook back. He walked two steps away to place it on a music stand and then just stood there, his shoulders moving up and down with every breath.

            “I didn’t make a great dad,” Dean said, “and I keep thinking about how... if I finish this song, if I want to release it, I should... give Lisa some sort of heads up. But I haven’t talked to her since...” He swallowed hard.

            Cas stared at his back, not quite sure what to say. He knew almost nothing about Lisa or Dean’s relationship with her, surely not enough to comment on it. So he went with what he did know. “I think you’d make a great dad.”

            Dean looked over his shoulder at him, half a laugh poised on his lips.

            “Really.” Cas licked his lips. “I may not know how you were with Ben but... you were great with Claire. You kept her calm. You kept her entertained. She only yelled at you for a few minutes and that alone is a miracle.”

            Dean chuckled.

            “She really liked you.”

            Dean turned back to face him, a small smile gracing his lips. “I know I’m good with kids.”

            “Would you ever want them? Like, your own kids?”

            Dean looked down at his feet. With a shrug, he said, “I’ve thought about it, sure. And growing up, I... when I was younger, I wanted them. Then I raised Sam basically as my own and watched him to learn to hate me. And I thought... it’d be too hard to go through that again. By the time I turned eighteen, I thought I’d given enough of myself to other people.”

            He swallowed hard. His foot scuffed across the floor. “Then I met Lisa. And she had Ben. And Ben was... perfect. He liked old rock music and played with the Hot Wheels’ versions of classic cars and... his mom was the love of my life. And I thought, this is what I want. I want kids and a family and someone who loves me.”

            A long silence washed over the room. Cas waited, looking to the same spot on the floor he imagined Dean was looking at, the black mark just an inch away from his guitar stand.

            “Then the universe decided I couldn’t have that,” Dean said, swallowing the thickness of the words. “And looking back... I wasn’t a great dad. I could have been better. I encouraged him to fight bullies and stand up for himself and be rebellious and maybe if I hadn’t...”

            “No.” Cas said the word too fast but he didn’t want to, he couldn’t, listen to Dean blame himself for the whole thing again. He kept his eyes on the floor. “Teaching kids to stand up for themselves is always a good thing. If my kids didn’t know how to, I’d probably go to school with them and take out the bullies myself.”

            Dean exhaled a sound that was almost a laugh. When Cas looked up, he saw him wipe a tear off his cheek. Their eyes met. “I’d love to have kids someday,” Dean said. “I don’t know if I could do it or if it’s even possible at this point but... I want them. Sometime in the future when there’s not paparazzi camped out on my lawn, preferably, but... after retirement. On a beach somewhere... or in a stupid white picket fence house... with someone I love. I want kids.”

            Cas felt the air warm and stuffy around him. He almost didn’t want to breathe as he looked into Dean’s eyes, afraid to disturb even a moment of the quiet, late night bubble. He felt it again, just as he did after the concert, the way their hearts beat in time with each other and the world stopped outside of where they were.

            “How about you?” Dean said.

            Cas blinked and breathed again. “I have kids.”

            “I know. But I mean... would you ever want more?”

            Cas tried not to feel the weight of that question. Some insane part of him felt like they were having _the_ conversation, the make-sure-our-life-plans-are-compatible conversation, but they couldn’t be. They hadn’t even known each other for a full two months and their relationship was a sham. So Cas instead focused on the question itself and not the man asking it.

            “Yes,” he said. He met Dean’s eyes and shrugged. “I love my kids more than anything in the world. I wish things were different and I lived with them but... I would never give up the experience of having them, of raising them. And if I had the opportunity to do that again, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

            “You’re not worried they’d feel replaced?”

            Cas laughed. “Claire would kill for me to have someone else to worry about, believe me. And Jack has always seemed like an older brother without a younger sibling to take care of.” He smiled up at Dean. “I think they’d be happy to welcome someone else into the family. Or a lot of someone elses. I don’t know. I could be happy without more children or with more children. I don’t have plans either way.”

            Dean coughed awkwardly. “Is it just me or does it feel like we’re agreeing to have kids together?”

            Cas laughed, glad to acknowledge the tension in the room. “You feel it to?”

            Dean shook his head. “I think this whole thing has been getting to our heads.” He offered Cas a hand, which he took, and pulled him to his feet. “That and the not sleeping.”

            Cas tried to memorize every pore in Dean’s tired face. “We should get back to that.”

            Dean nodded and dropped his hand. He headed for the studio door, Cas following behind him, and spoke as he walked, “Just because the relationship’s fake, doesn’t mean that I don’t trust you.” The words held weight and Cas felt distinctly like he shouldn’t be looking at the back of Dean’s head while he said this. But maybe that was the only way to do it without turning it into something else. “We’re a team, no matter what.”

            “I trust you too.”


	33. Chapter 33

For having actually slept the night before, Dean was exhausted. He swore sometimes he functioned better on three hours of sleep than eight but apparently that was “a medical impossibility” and made him a “dumbass.” (Chuck’s words, not his.)

            Dean drank copious amounts of coffee before slipping into the studio’s town car with Cas. He asked to stop at Starbucks on the way, got more coffee, and spent most of the ride chewing on his straw. Cas kept up a near constant stream of casual conversation, the words somehow never seeming strained. At the gate, he reached over and squeezed Dean’s hand. Dean tried not to flinch away.

            When the car stopped in front of the studio, Cas gestured for the driver to give them a moment alone. He turned to Dean. “You know, you don’t have to do this. You haven’t signed a contract. You’re not an actor...” The corner of his mouth twitched up and he pulled Dean’s melting iced coffee out of his hand. “No one expects you to do something you’re uncomfortable with.”

            Dean barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I said I’m fine with it and I’m fine.” He snatched the coffee back and finally took a sip of the sugary concoction.

            “Then why have you already had four cups of coffee today?”

            “Because.” Dean wanted to leave it at that one word but Cas raised an eyebrow and didn’t move. Dean sighed. “What are you, my mother? I’m exhausted and I have to face Bobby and we’re taping a sex scene in front of dozens of people, one of whom is practically my father.”

            Cas laughed.

            “Fuck you.” Dean grabbed the door and stepped out onto the pavement. Taking one last sip of his coffee, he tossed it into the nearest trash can and headed towards the doors.

            Cas was on his heels before the door even opened. A peppy woman with red hair started to speak to them immediately, shaking Dean’s hand as she somehow managed to introduce herself and run through their schedule at the same time. Dean knew, logically, that she had to be saying the two things separately, but to him it seemed like her voice overlapped. He had drunk too much coffee. Or maybe she had.

            He excused himself to the bathroom, ignoring the worried look Cas gave him. He pissed, splashed water on his face, and forced himself to breathe while looking in the mirror. He had no idea where the nerves had come from. He had agreed to do the scene. He had been fine all weekend knowing it would happen Monday morning. He’d been fine last night. Now, his whole body shook from caffeine-induced stress as he tried to find every flaw in his face that would be blown up in HD.

            “Thought you’d be tossing your guts.”

            Dean looked up to see Bobby step into the bathroom. He forced a smile. “Hey, Bobby.”

            Bobby nodded in greeting. “You never were good with a camera.”

            “Tell that to the paparazzi.”

            “How about I tell it to all the interviewers you blow off?”

            Dean chuckled and scratched the back of his neck. He still shook – four cups of coffee – but he felt his breathing steady, just a little. “How are you doing, Bobby?” he said. “I didn’t even know you were in town until Cas told me you were directing this shit show.”

            Bobby gestured for Dean to follow him and then stepped out into the hall. Dean felt the concrete beneath his boots and tried to focus on that instead of the dozens of people rushing around him. He wondered, absently, if Cas felt at home here. Here, where everyone was moving, talking, trying to get something done. Cas felt like the opposite to Dean – a rock in the middle of a stormy sea, something immoveable.

            “Think of it like backstage.”

            Dean blinked. “What?”

            “You’re having a panic attack.”

            He almost protested and then shut his mouth. When he focused, he could feel it. The way his arms had locked up. His hands clenched into fists in his pockets. His jaw tight. His mind had drifted half a mile away and, for a moment there, it had felt like his body wasn’t his own.

            “It’s like backstage,” Bobby said slowly. “These people moving around? They’re your crew, getting the lights and music ready. Me? I’m Chuck. Everyone else who talks to you? The same hair and makeup people you’re used to dealing with, plus those damn event coordinators that show up everywhere. This is no different than being backstage.”

            “Except for the cameras.”

            “There are cameras onstage,” he said. “How do you think they get your every move projected on the big screens?”

            “I thought it was divine will.”

            Bobby groaned. “Don’t. I have enough damn bible jokes from the two angels walking around my set.”

            Dean chuckled. “So Cas is really doing okay with Balthazar?”

            “I don’t know if I’d call it okay. They haven’t killed each other yet, that’s something. But they also haven’t taped any scenes where it might have to look like they like each other.”

            Bobby placed a hand on Dean’s back and pushed him down as a large beam of wood was lifted over their heads. They kept moving forward, crossing paths seamlessly with what appeared to be a construction crew, but Bobby waved off Dean’s questioning look. He spent a few more minutes showing Dean around set, getting him comfortable in the place, and then led him towards wardrobe.

            “One last thing.” Bobby stopped and placed his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I am not shooting porn here. Keep it in your damn pants.”

            Dean smiled. “You really think I’d fuck someone on tape?”

            “I never thought I’d see you with a steady beau after Lisa.” Bobby patted his back and stepped back. “But you continue to surprise me, Dean.”

            Dean shook his head as a man with spiked hair led him into a giant closet. They held a few outfits up against him in the mirror and Dean offered some feedback but mostly kept his mouth shut. They settled on a black t-shirt, a pair of well-worn jeans, and let Dean keep the boots he’d come in. At least that would be familiar to him.

            He was ushered off to hair and makeup where a girl spent a very long time trying to get his hair to look exactly the way it normally did and a guy dusted at his face with a makeup brush, paused, and then dusted some more, over and over and over again. Dean felt his makeup usually didn’t take so long on stage but that was for a screaming crowd blinded by lights. This was for HD.

            When they were finished, Anna reappeared and walked him towards set. Dean half-listened to her babble – mostly about how much she loved his music – but stayed in his own head. They rounded a bend and he saw Bobby standing with Cas whose hair was mussed to the side, his lips already made up to look roughly kissed, and his outfit far from what Dean might have imagined. He wore jeans so tight they looked spray-painted on and a black mesh tank top. Glitter dusted his skin. And he looked completely at ease, stretching one arm across his chest as he nodded along to whatever Bobby was saying.

            Dean tried not to swallow his tongue as he approached. Instead, he said, “Is this how you dress when I’m not around?”

            Cas’ eyes flicked his way, a bright smile on his face. “Michael’s a different person when Gabe’s not watching.”

            “I can see that.” Dean tried to sound anything but turned on. His eyes wandered down Cas’ bare chest. He glistened with sweat – or maybe it was a trick of the light and a good highlighting brush. The jeans hugged every curve of his legs, every muscle, and Dean didn’t even want to think about looking at his crotch.

            Cas’ finger pressed into the bottom of his chin and Dean looked up. Smiling, Cas said, “Focus, honey.”

            Dean felt heat flare in his chest. One step, one movement, and he could kiss that stupid smirk right off Cas’ face. Cas thought he was so irresistible? Dean could take him apart without so much as touching him if he wanted to.

            Bobby snapped in their faces. “You’re not flirting here; you’re in damn character.”

            Cas snorted, tried to hide his smile, and nodded.

            “And what exactly is my character?” Dean said.

            “You’re a club kid who likes the look of _that_.” Bobby gestured at Cas. “It’s barely acting.”

            “You could give me more of a challenge.”

            “You don’t have any lines,” Bobby said. “The studio wanted to give you some but since you can’t act for shit, I vetoed it.” Cas laughed and Bobby shot him a glare. “What are you laughing at? You’re one of those actors who plays the same thing time and again and you’re barely pulling off a different role here.”

            Cas’ eyes widened but he looked more surprised than offended.

            “Come on, Bobby,” Dean said. “That’s not fair.”

            “Just because you’ve spent weekends marathoning all his more explicit chick flicks doesn’t mean he’s an artistic genius. You’d watch _Fifty Shades_ if it got your dick hard.”

            Dean opened his mouth but couldn’t find a reply as his cheeks flushed red.

            Cas nudged his foot with his own. “Why haven’t you mentioned that?”

            “I... didn’t,” Dean managed. He just barely met Cas’ eyes as his whole face heated up. “You were... I mean...” He rolled his eyes. “I _barely_ recognized you and I didn’t know your name.”

            “But?”

            Dean sighed. “I’ve seen _Broadway Boys_ like a hundred times.”

            Cas’ eyes went wide and silence descended between them, or as much silence as could be expected on a working movie set. Dean managed to hold Cas’ gaze only because the other man looked just as embarrassed as he was. After a moment, Cas said, “I won’t tease you as long as you never mention that movie again.”

            Dean laughed. “It wasn’t that bad.”

            “That counts as mentioning it.”

            “Movie? What movie?”

            A small smile sparked across Cas’ lips and then he looked back at Bobby. “So what’s the plan?” he said. “Is there blocking for this?”

            Bobby looked up from the script in his hands. Apparently, their moment of intense embarrassment hadn’t been interesting enough to keep his attention. Even now, he only looked up for a second before glancing back at the papers in hand. “Let’s do a few loose rehearsals, see what feels the most natural, and then we’ll cement the blocking, bring the cameras in, and hopefully get it done in just a few takes.”

            Cas nodded as Bobby turned away. Before Dean could ask any questions, a PA asked them both to go stand at the side of the set. The fake wall barely blocked them from anyone’s view and the door placed in it seemed thin as paper. Dean wanted to rest back against it, give himself a chance to breathe, but he was afraid the whole thing might crumble under his weight. He stood with his back to the door, nodded along to the PAs simple instructions, and then looked at Cas, who faced him with a small smile.

            For a moment, they were alone. Dean took a few deep breaths. Cas reached out and placed his hand on Dean’s cheek, his smile soft and inviting. “Remember,” Cas said, “the important thing is to be comfortable. If you’re not, we can stop.”

            Despite himself, Dean leaned into the touch just enough to feel the pressure and warmth of Cas’ palm, enough to know he had probably ruined the makeup artist’s expert dusting. “I’d be more comfortable without this thing trapping my dick.”

            Cas snorted. “It’s for modesty.”

            Dean rolled his eyes. “Right. Because I’m gonna get turned on having fake sex in front of a hundred people.”

            “You’d be surprised. It’s basically dry-humping.”

            Uneasiness rolled through his stomach. He’d thought the worst of it was the cameras, Bobby teasing him, maybe making a fool of himself on film, but he’d been wrong. The worst of it was going to be kissing Cas, holding him close, feeling him up against him all over again. Cas on top of him. Cas holding him down. It wasn’t a line they could cross again, even for the cameras.

            Dean felt a little like his heart was being chewed up by a wood chipper. He must have looked about ready to vomit because Cas took Dean’s face in both his hands, whispered, “Breathe,” and kissed him softly. All the tension melted out of his body.

            When he met Cas’ eyes after, he could swear all his fears were reflected right back at him.

            “Let’s just have fun.”

            Dean nodded.

            They waited only a few moments for Bobby to call their cue. Cas hesitated, his eyes searching Dean’s face, and Dean barely had time to wonder what he was looking for before Cas kissed him. His fingers tangled into Dean’s hair and Dean finally understood what the hell the hairdresser had done – pulled out his hair so Cas would have something to grab on to.

            They stumbled through the paper door with so much force Dean thought they’d break it, but it simply slammed back on its hinges and swayed. Dean tried to keep his eyes open, even if just for his sanity, but found it hard not to close them as Cas’ tongue swept into his mouth. They banged up against the end of the bed, their hips pressing together, Cas’ hand already under the hem of his t-shirt. Dean held onto Cas, trying to pull him closer, one of his hands moving down to grasp his ass as he tilted backwards.

            He fell back onto the bed and, before Cas could crawl over him, Bobby called, “Cut!”

            Cas took a deep breath and stepped back. The wild light in his eyes went out in a blink. Dean sat up, trying hard not to pant, and he ran a hand through his hair as Bobby approached.

            “You’re too wrapped up in Michael’s anger,” Bobby said to Cas, “and forgetting that he’s only angry at Gabe. This, what you’re doing here, save that for the scene with Balthazar. Right now, I want you acting like the other Michael. Michael without Gabe. Michael when he’s happy. You’re dressed different so try to act different.”

            Cas nodded. He had his hand up to his lips, not brushing off the kiss, but considering it, trying to memorize it on the planes of his skin.

            “And you.”

            Dean blinked and looked up.

            “You look like a deer in the damn headlights. I don’t blame you with Cas pushing you around like that, but try to look like you actually enjoy letting your guard down. You went out to meet someone like Michael. Someone who isn’t afraid to take control. Let him have it.”

            He nodded as Bobby walked away, gesturing for the crew to reset the scene. Cas offered him a hand and Dean took it. While he pulled him to his feet, Cas said, “He doesn’t know a lot about what you like, huh?”

            Dean flipped him off and walked back through the door before the crew shut it. Cas circled around the wall to meet him on the other side. He brushed his fingers against Dean’s cheek and then blew on them when he pulled away. “Sorry,” he said, “glitter.”

            “That’s never coming off, is it?”

            Cas shook his head.

            “I kinda like it.”

            Smiling, Cas said, “I’d never peg you as someone who likes the glitter and gay clubs vibe.”

            Dean shrugged. “I like hot guys.” He poked a finger through a hole in Cas’ tank top and tugged him closer. “I like them better wearing no clothes.”

            If possible, Cas’ smile widened and Dean felt his heart swell. From just a few minutes of kissing, he could feel his nerves taking a back seat to the excitement in his chest. He wanted to kiss Cas again. He hoped they never got the scene right, that he’d have to come back the next day and the day after that. He wanted them to rewrite the whole script as a porno just so that he had some excuse to stay in Cas’ arms.

            But the part of him that wasn’t a masochist, the part of him that knew better, wanted it all to end as quickly as possible. They were too close here. It was a two-time thing. And this felt like half a time, a fake scene in the middle of their fake relationship.

            “Is this okay?” Cas asked.

            Dean almost blurted out everything he was feeling before he realized Cas was asking about the hand he’d placed on his hip. Dean nodded. The cue came. Cas kissed him and pushed him back. Dean wrapped his hands around Cas’ neck, kissing him back with some desperation, trying to pull himself back into what should have been an exercise in his horrible acting ability. Cas’ hands got under his shirt, his fingers crept under his waistband, and Dean felt their hips pressed together. They hit the end of the bed. Cas pushed him back. Bobby called cut.

            “Too much movement,” he called from his spot by the cameras. “We’re never gonna get that all on the same tape. Just make a straight beeline for the bed.”

            It took two more takes for Dean to start feeling like a teenager again. Or maybe like a teenager for the first time. When he actually was a teenager, there hadn’t been anyone around to interrupt him in the middle of heated make out sessions that might turn into something more. Now, Bobby was cock-blocking him at every turn.

            There was a small pause before the seventh try. They almost had the blocking down; Bobby just wanted to try one last thing before they brought in the cameras. Apparently, the scene was supposed to stop when he was knocked onto the bed. They’d shoot the actual sex part after the initial movement so the cameras could readjust to focus on the bed. Dean wasn’t sure he’d really hated acting until he was told that.

            Cas grabbed him by the back of the neck, a heated gesture that somehow felt gentle. Despite the stage lights, Cas’ hands were cold.

            “How are you doing that?”

            Cas pulled back his hand to reveal a melting ice cube.

            Dean exhaled, not quite managing a laugh. “Thanks.”

            “No problem. Are you all right?”

            “I’d be better if you stopped asking that every ten seconds.”

            “Sorry.” Cas pursed his lips. “It’s just... it can be a lot if you’re not used to it. I remember. Hell, it was a lot when I started this film because I’d been gone for so long.”

            Dean nodded but didn’t say anything.

            “Are you ready for the cameras?”

            “Sure.”

            “Dean—”

            “It’s not the acting that’s bothering me, Cas,” Dean snapped. He watched Cas’ eyes go wide and wished he could take back the sharpness in his tone. He sighed. After all, by this point, he knew Cas well enough to know he’d let it go if Dean didn’t want to talk. But, Dean figured, just this once, maybe he owed the guy the truth. “It’s that they keep stopping us.”

            Cas frowned.

            “Cas.” Dean took a step towards him, closing the little space between them. His eyes shifted to Cas’ lips but he forced them back up. “We’re five seconds from fucking, over and over and over again. I am dying.”

            A shaky exhale left Cas. He placed his hand on Dean’s chest, bunching the fabric of his t-shirt. “I know,” he whispered. He licked his lips. “It’s enough to make you really hate Bobby, huh?”

            “Asshole can’t give us five damn minutes more?”

            “Only five?”

            Dean leaned down to kiss Cas, catching his lips sweetly. He nibbled at his bottom lip and popped off. “But it was a two-time thing, right?”

            He felt, more than saw, Cas inhale. His expression faltered for the first time that day. Bobby could say he wasn’t a good actor but he had a damn good poker face and the professionalism of a news caster who had to deal with real people on the street.

            “Right,” Cas replied, his voice not quite steady.

            Dean wanted to push but the cue was called. Cas hesitated. “Kiss me,” Dean said.

            And he did. By this point, the whole exercise felt mechanical. Dean remembered the blocking they had gone through and kept a surprisingly cool head as Cas pushed him around. By the time they hit the bed, his shirt was off and Cas’ pants were undone. Cas looked down at him with hungry eyes, ready to devour him whole, and, as soon as Bobby called cut, Dean smirked at him.

            Cas offered him a hand as his expression went neutral and pulled him up again. Dean leaned right into him, tired of keeping up whatever the hell ruse they were trying to play here. The cast and crew thought they were dating. They knew they weren’t. They were filming a sex scene. The whole thing was too much for his tired brain.

            Bobby sent them back to hair and makeup while the stand-ins took their places so the cameras could be readjusted. Dean was separated from Cas again, a small favour that he felt like thanking the gods for, and he was able to catch his breath for the first time in over an hour. He closed his eyes as the hair and makeup people worked. He might have fallen asleep or into that half-asleep state where he remembered some things and forgot others.

            When he got back to set, he was placed with his back to the door again and Cas in front of him. The set had green and yellow tape on the floor now. Bobby ran through the blocking with them again. Dean focused his eyes on Cas’, felt the weight of the moment on them all over again.

            It took three takes. Then they were let go for lunch.

            They said almost nothing to each other on the way over to Craft Services. Dean grabbed a paper plate off the end of the table and started piling up food, adding everything that looked good and a few things that didn’t. Halfway down the table, Cas said, “You might want to try something that hasn’t been deep fried.”

            Dean glanced over at Cas’ plate to see it filled with rabbit foot. Instead of putting the burger he had grabbed on his plate, he dropped it on Cas’. “You might want to try not starving yourself for a role.”

            “How do you think I look good in this shirt?” Cas said but he grabbed a bun and retaliated by scooping salad onto Dean’s plate.

            Dean covered it with the shredded cheese in one of the condiment bowls and then filled a paper ketchup cup with Thousand Island dressing. He caught Cas’ disappointed look, smiled, and said, “What are you worried about? Dying alone?”

            “Having to stop a sex scene because you had a heart attack.”

            Dean ducked forward and kissed Cas. He barely even thought about it – they’d been kissing all day and his lips felt weird with the cool air brushing against them. It was a quick kiss, supported by his hand on the back of Cas’ neck, and he broke it fast. “I’ll be all right, babe.”

            “At least have some kale.”

            He put the kale on his plate and then walked off to the dessert table. When he’d picked three desserts, he found Cas at a little white table set off to the side. The whole area looked like a fancy food court in a high-end mall – white tables, tea-time-looking chairs, tablecloths, populated by people in all kinds of clothes. Dean slipped into the seat across from Cas and dug in.

            They chatted about nothing in particular while playing footsy under the table. Dean wasn’t sure who had started it. He just remembered feeling Cas’ foot rubbing up against his, trying to get the upper hand, and then losing the movement to muscle memory. He rubbed his toes up the inside of Cas’ shin, just an inch or two, and saw a smile twitch onto Cas’ lips before he bit down on it.

            By the time Dean had finished his food, Cas was picking at his salad and his burger was mostly untouched. Dean gestured to it. “Are you gonna finish that?” Without a word, Cas slid the plate across the table.

            “How much longer will this be?” Dean asked between bites.

            “Hopefully only a few hours for you.”

            “Hopefully?”

            Cas hummed his assent. He wasn’t looking at Dean anymore – something somewhere else had caught his eye. Dean followed his gaze to see a tall guy with salt and pepper hair chatting animatedly with a few crew members. “Balthazar?” Dean guessed.

            “We used to be friends.” Cas looked back at Dean. “At least, I thought we were friends. He worked with Kelly, I thought it was all above board... he used to stay for family dinners. The kids called him uncle.”

            Dean reached across the table and squeezed Cas’ hand. “He’s a dick.”

            “Yeah.” Cas shook his head and looked down at the table. Or maybe he was looking at their clasped hands. Dean couldn’t tell. After all, there had to be so many things on Cas’ mind right now that Dean didn’t see how he kept it all in, stayed on cue, and kept reassuring him.

            “Hey,” Dean said and waited for Cas to look up. “You don’t have to worry about me. Or us. Not today, okay?”

            “What?”

            “We’ll figure it out.” Dean felt the lie heavy on his tongue. Most likely, they’d ignore it until it swallowed them both whole. “But today is about shooting this movie, so let’s keep you focused on that. You don’t need anything else on your plate.”

            A small smile graced Cas’ lips. “Thank you.”

            Dean bit into the burger instead of replying. He finished it off in two more bites, licked his fingers, and got to his feet. He took both their plates and threw them in the trash. Somehow, in the ten seconds he’d been gone, Balthazar had approached Cas. Dean circled back slowly, catching their conversation as he approached.

            “...doing a valiant job out there. It’s really quite nice to see you pretending to move on with your life like this. Never thought I’d see you make the effort.”

            Cas had fixed a sharp look on Balthazar and barely moved.

            “Was it not just a few months ago you were trying to convince Kelly to go to counselling again? I remember those phone calls... all so late at night... did you ever wonder why she sounded so _tired_ during them?”

            Dean placed a hand on Cas’ shoulder, holding him into the chair as he tried to stand. He feigned innocence, forcing himself to smile at Balthazar, and said, “Is there a problem here, babe?”

            “Not on my end,” Cas said.

            “I was just telling Cas how _nice_ it is to see him moving on from his ex-wife,” Balthazar said with a bright smile. He focused his grey eyes on Dean, giving off the vibe of a friendly but drunk uncle. “Did you know, just before you two started dating... or maybe it was after? I’m not sure. You’ll have to check your notes, but anyways, not that long ago at all, Cas was making another attempt to get back in the martial bed.”

            Dean felt his hand tense against Cas’ shoulder as he stared Balthazar down. “We don’t have secrets,” he said. “And even if we did, Kelly certainly isn’t one of them.”

            “Then you know about the restraining order?”

            Not a good actor, his ass. Dean barely blinked. He stepped around Cas’ chair, letting his hand fall from his shoulder, and approached Balthazar with fire in his eyes. “How about you go somewhere else and mind your own damn business?”

            Balthazar took a step closer to him. “Or what?”

            Dean made a fist.

            Cas’ hand touched his wrist, gentle, barely a brush of his fingertips. “Don’t.”

            He met Cas’ eyes as well as he could. Cas was still half looking at his feet, his eyes tired. Dean’s hand relaxed as Cas added, “He’s not worth it.”

            Balthazar chuckled and then patted Dean on the arm. “At least your boy knows when—”

            Dean threw the punch. Hard and fast and before he even really registered that he’d made the decision to do so. Cas stood and held onto his arm with both hands, as if holding him back or maybe holding him steady. Luckily, Balthazar was a thin-as-a-stick actor and stumbled backwards, touching his face gingerly.

            “If that bruises—” he threatened.

            “Send me a bill.” Dean spit at his feet before Cas pulled him away. He let himself go, let his feet take him wherever Cas wanted him to go. Before long, the door to Cas’ dressing room shut heavily behind them.

            “Did you not hear me tell you not to?”

            Dean turned to Cas with a sigh. He felt his hand tremble as he ran it through his hair and blamed it on the coming caffeine crash, nothing else. “He was out of line,” Dean said, surprised by the anger in his own voice. “He had no right to say those things.”

            Cas stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. “They were all true.”

            Dean’s heart broke. Or maybe the crack just opened a little wider. “I don’t care. He shouldn’t have said it. As if he doesn’t trust that—”

            “We’re really together?” Cas sighed as he plopped down onto the couch. He dropped his head, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

            Dean held his tongue as he watched Cas deflate. He felt it like a weight on his own heart, something he couldn’t right, something that hurt him just as much as the man sitting in front of him. He scratched the back of his neck.

            Cas leaned back and closed his eyes as his head rested against the wall. His stomach rumbled. Dean glanced around the room, taking in the pictures of Cas’ kids, the family picture with Kelly, and the bright yellow tulips that graced the dresser. Dean pinched one in between his fingers and brought it up to his nose to smell. He vaguely remembered an article about yellow flowers being Kelly’s favourite because they brightened any room.

            “How long...” Dean swallowed as he eyed Cas cautiously. “A restraining order?”

            “I don’t want to talk about it.”

            Dean did. He wanted to push and prod and learn every secret Cas hid from him. But he supposed he should afford Cas the same respect he afforded him, the right to open up when it felt right, when the story was on the tip of his tongue and leaving it in his head just didn’t feel right. Dean just couldn’t wrap his head around how this wasn’t that moment. It felt quiet, like every other time they were alone. He’d have opened his own heart if he had anything else to share.

            A knock came at the door and Cas called for whoever it was to enter. Anna poked her head in, an apologetic smile on her face. “Bobby says Dean is done for the day. You can wrap the scene some other day.” She paused momentarily, looking between the two of them. “I can wait outside if you two want to say goodbye.”

            Cas shook his head. “Go. It’s fine.”

            Dean stared at him for a moment longer before following Anna out the door.


	34. Chapter 34

If nothing else, Cas was thankful for the endless reasons Balthazar gave him to hate him as they got closer to filming the climactic scenes. Twice on set, Bobby told him to rein it in. The fight choreographer was now always in the room during a scene, ready to stop them if it came to blows or to redirect Cas’ anger towards a lamp on set or another piece of furniture bolted to the floor. Red marks where his nails had bitten into his palms started not to fade after Cas left set. His jaw felt constantly clenched.

            He did his best to follow Bobby’s rules and be civil to the crew, but so much pent-up tension roiled through his body at every second. He was also thankful that Dean seemed to have disappeared again. When he got home from set late at night, Dean was nowhere to be found. When he woke up early in the morning, Dean’s bedroom door was firmly closed. If it was open, if Dean greeted him after a day on set, Cas wasn’t sure where it would lead. Fighting? Fucking? He wasn’t even sure what kind of release he needed at this point.

            Charlie came down in the middle of the week to check out the set, claiming she was worried about him. She instituted some new policies. Cas didn’t want a reputation as an actor who was difficult to work with but putting up barrier between him and Balthazar at least helped him relax. He never saw the guy if they weren’t taping a scene together. Crew members were to refrain from mentioning him unless it was absolutely necessary. Cas thought Balthazar probably got a kick out of the whole thing – Cas breaking first, Cas unable to stand him.

            Thursday night, two hours before taping wrapped, Cas got a call from Sam. He took it at Charlie’s nod and flopped down onto his couch face first. He managed a muffled greeting as he took a sip from the coffee Anna had brought him an hour ago.

            “Cas, great to hear from you,” Sam said as if he hadn’t been the one to call. “I just wanted to check in and reassure you that I’ve put certain precautions in place to make sure that none of what is going on on set is leaking to the press. As far as anyone knows, it’s smooth sailing all around.”

            Cas hummed his response.

            “I’ve got NDAs signed, extra security going, and feelers out to all my sources just in case something slips so I can get it shut down. This is a tough situation, Cas, and no one blames you for needing a break. We just can’t guarantee the press will see it that way.”

            “I know.”

            Sam was silent for a long moment and Cas heard him take a deep breath in.

            “Anything else?”

            “These are new arrangements,” Sam said, “meaning that Dean’s time on set was leaked.”

            Cas pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let me guess. Everyone knows he punched Balthazar.”

            “I’m not worried about that. Well, I am, but not for your sake. Dean and I will figure out how to clean up that mess on our own.” Sam cleared his throat. “I’m more worried about the reports from extras and crew members feeding the flames of the sexual tension story. Some footage leaked but luckily the studio shut that down immediately. All the big outlets are afraid of the copyright suits.”

            “Do you have a plan?”

            “I’m trying to set up an interview for you two. Something you can do together, as a couple, to show the world that it’s just a few rumours. I’ll try to keep the questions PG and mostly focused on something else, but your main concern should be acting like you’re in love without acting like you’re about to fuck.”

            Cas blinked blearily into the leather of the couch. He said nothing.

            “Think sweet, camera shy, channel royalty.”

            “You want me to do the Kelly interview?”

            “The what?”

            Cas rolled onto his back and stared up at the popcorn ceiling. His eyes fought to find patterns in the meaningless dots. “That interview,” Cas said, “where Kelly and I sat side by side in those stupid matching outfits, looking like we were at a tea party even though we were in an interview studio, and tried to convince everyone we were sweet little celibate Christian angels.”

            “Well, same idea without the celibate part.”

             “Fine.” Cas hung up before Sam could say more and felt bad about not feeling bad for cutting the call. He closed his eyes, forced a deep breath, and tried not to wince when someone knocked at the door. He got to his feet and went back to set without complaint.

 

Cas hid the coffee machine Friday morning. He gave Dean one mug, refused to listen to his protests, and waited on the front step for the car to pull up. The chilly late October air woke him up better than the caffeine; it made him feel more like he was really there.

            After ten minutes, Dean joined him. “Don’t tell me you’re nervous this time.”

            Cas shook his head. “Sex scenes are the least sexy thing you’ll do in your life.” He shot a glance Dean’s way and felt the butterflies flutter in his stomach. “Trust me. It’ll be a lot less confusing than last time.”

            “Confusing?”

            Cas licked his bottom lip and looked away. Part of him knew he owed Dean an explanation for what Balthazar had said. But more of him wanted to forget that part of his life, the part of him that so recently had still wanted Kelly back, had still needed her to fill the hole in his heart. And the restraining order was an out of question topic. The NDAs had been signed. Cas had momentarily considered suing Balthazar for bringing it up on set but dismissed it when he realized it would only add more to his current workload.

            Dean reached out and took his hand. Cas looked down at their intertwined fingers, felt their sweaty palms play against each other. Neither of them said anything as the car rolled up and they made their way towards the studio.

            When they stopped outside, Dean said, “I think it’s my turn to ask if you’re okay.”

            Cas forced a smile. “Just tired. Ready for the weekend.”

            Dean nodded and didn’t press. Cas wished he would press.

            Inside, they were separated. Cas spent three hours in makeup getting his whole body brushed and plucked and shaved in preparation for the scene. He got the cock sock on, tied it twice, and then forced himself to pay attention while the choreographer ran through the scene with him. Fake sweat was applied even though Cas knew he’d be sweating for real in no time. Between the lights, all the eyes on them, and Dean underneath him, there was no way he’d stay dry for long.

            He felt the fog lift from his head when he met Dean on set. A smile tugged at his lips to see the other man completely nude except for the cock sock. He stepped forward and flicked the drawstring with one finger before letting his eyes graze up Dean’s body. His heart beat a little faster but he tamped it down.

            “This is a good look on you,” Cas said.

            Dean smiled. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

            Bobby snapped in their faces and ran through the choreography with them again. The doubles were already on the bed as the cameras were positioned, running through the choreography themselves. “You two have been practicing, right?” Bobby said.

            Cas blinked at him. He had all but forgotten the email he’d been sent with the detailed choreography asking him to run through it a few times before the scene because they wouldn’t have time to do so on set. Since he and Dean were dating, it was unconventional but not uncomfortable. Those were the exact words from the email, Cas remembered that. _Unconventional but not uncomfortable._ He shot a look Dean’s way.

            Dean smirked. “Define practicing.”

            Bobby shook his head. “Just do it the way you’re supposed to.” And he walked away.

            “We’re fucked,” Cas said.

            “I read the email like a hundred times,” Dean said. “We’ll be fine.”

            Cas wanted to nod, to agree, to be bolstered by Dean’s optimism. But more of him was focused on the fifty people watching. Despite his own fatigue, he glanced Dean’s way. “Are you okay with the cameras?”

            Dean shrugged. “I’ll get over them.”

            Cas wanted to reach out and take Dean’s hand, but since they were both nearly naked, he didn’t. Electricity already crackled between them. If he touched him, they’d spark. If they sparked, what was supposed to be a mechanical, sweaty exercise would become something more, fast. And if it became more, Cas didn’t want to think about what he’d do. He wanted to believe he’d call Charlie and tell her to pull him but he didn’t trust himself that much, never had when it came to Dean.

            They were called to take their positions. Dean lay down in the pillows and Cas crawled on top of him, their legs brushing together, fingers sweeping across muscles. Everything felt wrong. Dean’s skin was shaved smooth, the makeup making him look like an airbrushed picture out of a magazine. Cas wanted him real, wanted him tired in the middle of the night or hyperactive in the morning. He shifted slightly and cupped Dean’s chin in his hand. “Remember the safe word?”

            Dean smirked. “Maybe we should choose something other than _baby_? Since I call you that anyways?”

            Cas chuckled, feeling his whole body relax in the face of Dean’s smile. “Okay, if I go too far, call me...”

            “Angel.”

            Cas rolled his eyes. “Right, because the audience won’t pick up on that.”

            “You could fuck me for real and I wouldn’t say a word.”

            “You’re uncomfortable kissing in front of the paps but you’d be fine if I fucked you here?”

            Dean’s eyes widened slightly. “What? I’m...”

            “You’re not as good at acting as you think you are.” Cas brushed his thumb across Dean’s smooth cheek, wishing for his stubble to come back. He leaned in and kissed him, already feeling the heat in the room, the sweat on his back becoming real. Their lips pressed soft together, languid and long, and he forgot he had to pull out of it.

            “If you’re gonna cup his face like that,” Bobby said, “we might as well start with the body doubles.”

            Cas moved his hand and Dean turned his face towards the camera. Cas let his hand fall across his shoulder and down to Dean’s bicep. “Ready when you are.”

            Dean nodded.

            Bobby called action.

            The choreography, thank god, was just as easy as Cas remembered. He worked through it seamlessly, the cameras stopping from time to time to readjust their hands or legs to get a better view. Several times, a PA came on set to hand them water and Cas sat back on Dean’s legs while Dean propped himself up on his elbows.

            As the scene came together, the atmosphere got less sexy. By the end, Dean was cracking jokes about his cock sock and Cas was laughing. Bobby started snapping at them to stop acting like teenagers in love for the first time and to start acting like it was a hookup. But Cas couldn’t help smiling when he kissed Dean, couldn’t help but feel the tickle of his hips squirming under his weight.

            It took less time to film than the last one. Partially because they only had to do a quarter of the work before the body doubles took over. Cas stepped off set right into a fuzzy robe and a pair of slippers. He thanked the costume girl, then turned back to Dean who was glugging down a bottle of water like a man recently rescued from a stranded island.

            Cas smiled as he approached. “Thank you.”

            “For what?” Dean said, the words garbled as he wiped water off his chin.

            “For doing this.” Cas shrugged. “For being a good sport.”

            “Anytime.”

            The silence stretched between them, feeling both warm and awkward at the same time. After a few seconds, Cas laughed and pulled Dean into a hug. He held on a little too long but he didn’t really care. When he stepped back, Dean was watching him curiously.

            “I’ll see you at home?” Cas said.

            Dean nodded.

            Cas went back to work.

 

Shooting wrapped late. Cas wasn’t on his way home until after midnight and he nearly fell asleep in the back of the car. When they reached Dean’s house, the driver leaned over the seat and shook his shoulder. Cas thanked him – or he thought he did, maybe he just nodded – and stumbled out of the car.

            He made it up the front steps and into the living room without passing out – a small miracle. The scenes he’d shot that day had left him drained. Between yelling at Balthazar, getting torn apart by the ghost brides, and having to kick down a fake door, Cas felt like he’d gone through the whole gauntlet of human emotions in ten hours flat. He barely remembered filming with Dean in the morning.

            Dean was up still, curled under a blanket on his threadbare couch, the light of the TV illuminating him. “Hey,” Dean said, soft, as his eyes flicked up to Cas. “You’re home late.”

            “You stayed up.” Cas shrugged off his coat.

            “You said you’d see me at home.”

            Cas let that statement drop as he set down his keys and wallet. Then he wandered over to the couch, about to ask what Dean was watching before he saw the bright pink lights on screen and the bad 90s fashion. “Oh no,” he said. “I thought we agreed to never speak of this again.”

            Dean grabbed him by the hand and pulled him onto the couch. He shifted away a little when Cas accidently half-sat on his thigh and lifted up the blanket. Cas pulled it over his lap, then moved in closer. “I didn’t think this scene made it through editing.”

            “Extended cut.”

            Cas sighed as he watched himself on screen singing the big duet from _West Side Story_. His head drooped, so he settled it on Dean’s shoulder. Dean reached an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer. The room felt warm, but pleasantly so, and Cas still wanted to curl into the heat of Dean’s body. He let his eyes start to lose focus and close.

            “Are you watching this because you missed me?” Cas managed, his voice low.

            Dean chuckled. “Don’t flatter yourself. This is the third movie I’ve watched.”

            Cas hummed a response but could already feel himself falling asleep. The smart part of his brain protested sleeping on the couch, but with every muscle in his body screaming for release, Cas shut that part of his brain down. He turned his head and lay a soft kiss on Dean’s shoulder. He felt the kiss returned on his forehead, then in his hair. Dean pulled him closer.

            “We shouldn’t sleep here,” Cas murmured.

            Dean’s fingers brushed through his hair, gentle as a lullaby.

            Cas heard the music from the film peter out and wanted to open an eye to see what scene came next. But even trying to open his eyes felt like a battle he was never going to win, so he let himself settle. Pieces of the dialogue floated in one ear and out the other. He snuggled closer to Dean and let sleep overtake him.


	35. Chapter 35

Wednesday morning, Dean sat backstage at the _Ellen_ show while a man did his makeup. He kept glancing down at his phone and the man kept tilting his chin back up. Chuck came over, took his phone and said, “Cas will be here. He’s not even late.”

            Dean nodded but said nothing. In the last few days, he had grown used to missing Cas, to waiting for him. Cas had had the weekend off and they’d gotten coffee, messed around on Dean’s guitars, and even staged a ridiculous fight in a brunch place that they’d both ended up laughing their way through. The pictures looked good though. And all the kinks in Dean’s shoulders from sleeping on the couch were gone.

            “This is a good picture.” Chuck turned Dean’s phone screen towards him. It was the picture he’d taken Friday night of the two of them cuddling on the couch, Cas fast asleep against his shoulder. “Why haven’t you posted it?”

            Dean shrugged but said nothing. He hadn’t posted it because he hadn’t taken it for Instagram, because it wasn’t an act and it wasn’t staged. He had wanted the picture. He’d fiddled with the idea of using it as his phone background but he had a tendency to lose his phone and the people he trusted had a tendency to go through it. And the last thing he wanted was to have an honest conversation with anyone about the way he felt about Cas.

            “You’re ready for this interview?” Chuck’s fingers swiped across the screen and Dean knew he’d find the picture posted when he got the phone back. He focused on his own eyes in the mirror, on the way the makeup artist’s quick brush strokes made his cheekbones look more defined. “You and Cas know what’s expected of you?”

            “We went through the questions with Sam last night.” Dean sputtered as a brush tickled his lips. “We’re fine.”

            Chuck slipped Dean’s phone into his back pocket and clapped Dean on the shoulder. “Just remember to keep it in your pants.”

            Dean rolled his eyes and, before Chuck walked away, said, “Hey, what about those new contracts from the label? When can we expect those?”

            Chuck hesitated and Dean raised an eyebrow at him.

            Chuck took two steps back to the vanity and half perched on it, one leg dangling and the other firmly on the ground. He waved the makeup guy away. “They’re dragging their feet,” he said, his voice steady. He held up a hand to stop Dean from interrupting. “They’re impressed by your behaviour on the extra leg of the tour but they want to hear some of your new stuff before they offer up contracts.”

            Dean blinked. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I must have heard you wrong.”

            Chuck opened his mouth but Dean interrupted him.

            “Because I could have _sworn_ I just heard you tell me that my label, the label that has produced my last two albums, the label that I have gone platinum for _twice_ , asked me to give them a fucking demo?”

            “It’s not that big of a deal.”

            “Tell them to fucking shove it.”

            “Dean—”

            “No. I’ll get another label. Someone else will get my music. I’m not recording a fucking goddamn demo like some rookie musician still playing dive bars.” Dean ripped the paper bib off his neck and got to his feet. He tossed it at the nearest trash can but missed.

            “We can’t go to another label.” Chuck rushed to keep up with him as he walked.

            “Why not? I’m a free agent, aren’t I?” Dean whirled on him at the door to the guest dressing room. He felt his breath getting heavy and tried to swallow the rage in his throat. But more of him didn’t want to. “They haven’t put me under contract again. I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

            “Your reputation isn’t that good,” Chuck snapped. He held up his hands like he was trying to stop an angry bear from charging at him and stepped closer. “Your label has already assumed the risk, has already taken on your name and your problems. A new label isn’t going to be so easily impressed by a couple of concert dates you didn’t skip out on and a boyfriend who trusts you. No one else will take you.”

            “Have you asked them?”

            Chuck sighed. “If word gets out I’m shopping you around to other labels—”

            “Then maybe my label will step the fuck up and do what they promised,” Dean snapped. He met Chuck’s eyes. “Do your fucking job, Chuck, and get me a contract for my next album. And don’t ask me to do stupid shit like record a demo to get it.”

            He walked into the dressing room and slammed the door hard behind him. Letting out a heavy sigh, he leaned back against the door and brushed a hand down his face. With the anger fading and his arms shaking, the fear crept in again. He had extended his tour to get back on the label’s good side. He had started to date a man he barely knew to change his reputation. And now there was a chance it was all for nothing. There was a chance that even sober, committed, and reliable his label wouldn’t want him back. And no one else wanted him either.

            He sunk down to the floor and rested his forehead on his knees. Makeup dusted onto his black pants. He closed his eyes hard against the urge to break down completely as he wasn’t about to walk back into hair and makeup and ask them to do it all over again because he’d been crying in the dressing room.

            A little while later, there was a knock on the door.

            “Go away, Chuck.”

            “It’s not Chuck.” Cas’ voice was so soft it was almost a whisper. Dean imagined he could feel him leaning against the door’s other side, his lips close to the wood. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see him. “It’s almost time to go on.”

            Dean made a non-committal noise and didn’t move.

            “Can I come in?”

            “Not unless you’re strong enough to push the door open with me leaning on it.”

            Quiet pressed between them. Dean could still hear the hubbub of the studio, the people running from place to place, and the crowd getting restless on the other side of the curtains. He thought he heard cheers, like shooting had started already, and he supposed it might have. Begrudgingly, he realized Bobby had been right about the movie set. It was no different from the backstage of a concert or an interview set. He had gotten nervous for nothing.

            “Chuck told me what happened. It’s not the end of the world.”

            “What do you know about music?”

            “Very little,” Cas admitted, “but it seems like holing yourself up in your dressing room and missing this interview isn’t going to help.”

            Dean didn’t reply, didn’t want to admit Cas was right. But he got to his feet and opened the door. Cas stood on the other side, the smallest of smiles on his lips, and Dean felt the fight go right out of him. He leaned against the door as his legs woke up, still feeling numb and tingly from being on the ground for so long. “Why do you always have to be right?” Dean said.

            “It’s a gift.”

            Dean shoved him back and stepped out of the dressing room. Together, they made their way to the spot behind the curtain where the PA had told Dean to stand when he’d first arrived. Cas’ fingers curled around his and it felt sticky, forced. Dean barely squeezed because he knew it was all for the cameras and a petty, stupid part of him preferred holding Cas’ hand when he knew it was for one of them or both of them or for an anchor to the real world they so rarely lived in.

            Ellen called the cue, introducing them both, and a techie pulled back the curtain so they could step through. Dean raised his free hand to wave to the crowd, smiling brightly as they walked towards the ivory couches. He hugged Ellen when he reached her and Cas tried to shake her hand before she hugged him too. Dean pulled Cas towards the right couch as he missed it – the wonders of skipping rehearsal – and they ended up sitting too close. Cas’ thigh pressed into his, almost on top of him, and Dean wound his arm around Cas’ waist, keeping him close. Part of him knew he should let go, give Cas his space, focus on the interview. But a bigger part of him didn’t feel too close to Cas, didn’t feel like they were close enough at all. He shifted sideways only an inch or so, just enough that Cas’ weight wouldn’t break his bones.

            “It’s so nice to have you two here. Thank you for coming,” Ellen began.

            “Thank you for having us,” Dean and Cas said almost in perfect unison. Dean chuckled as he glanced over at Cas, who looked back at him and licked his lips over his smile. And suddenly Dean was sweating, from the lights on set, from the look in Cas’ eyes, from the nerves. He coughed into his hand and said, “Always good to see you, Ellen.”

            “As it is to see you!” She shifted in her chair and crossed her legs. “I understand you just wrapped an extension of your tour, congratulations on that.” Dean thanked her and she added, “What was the reasoning behind all of that? The tour dates were added quite quickly.”

            “I just wanted to go back to see all the fans I’d missed the first time around. I had a bad time on tour, was sick a lot—”

            “Got distracted by your boyfriend,” Ellen added.

            Dean smiled and risked a glance Cas’ way. Cas had blushed bright red and Dean knew, to survive this, he’d have to not look Cas’ way again. Ever. “That too,” he said, “but mostly I felt bad about all those people who wanted to see me and didn’t get to. So when the label proposed going back for them, adding some new dates, and new opportunities to meet the fans, I couldn’t wait to get back out there.”

            “Even if it meant leaving your new beau behind?”

            “That was hard.” Dean bit his bottom lip to fight the urge to look at Cas again. He stared at Ellen instead. “Of course, it’s always hard to leave someone you love behind when you’re on tour, but especially so early on in the relationship. It was hard. We’d just moved in together and things were going so well but I think we handled the long distance as well as could be expected.”

            Ellen smiled. “So you two are in love?”

            “What?”

            “You said ‘leave someone you love behind.’ Care to expand upon that?”

            Dean opened his mouth but no words came out. He felt like his heart had stopped in his chest.

            Then, Cas’ hands wrapped around his. He rested their knuckles on Dean’s thigh as he shifted forward and said, “I know it’s fast. We told everyone in September and it’s only just November now and here we are telling you we’re in love. I didn’t expect it any more than you did. But... I love this man. I love him. And I’m not going to hide that just because people think we’re moving too fast.”

            Dean watched every muscle in Cas’ face move as he spoke, the lies falling off his tongue so easily he thought maybe he was telling the truth. And what then? The people who loved Dean got hurt or ended up hating him. He felt like he was swallowing his heart whole, trying not to cry. Then Cas looked his way.

            “Don’t do that,” Cas whispered. “It’s not like it’s a surprise.”

            “Sorry.” Dean forced himself to laugh and a tear escaped. He pulled his hands from Cas’ and wiped at his cheek. He focused back on Ellen with a smile. “It’s just still so good to hear him say it.”

            “You’ve made quite the reputation for yourself as a player,” Ellen said. “What’s it like to finally settle down? Was it a big adjustment?”

            “I expected it to be harder, to be honest with you, but with Cas, everything just feels... right. It didn’t feel like a hard change to make at all.”

            Cas leaned in and kissed him on the shoulder. Dean felt his whole body shudder and the rebellious part of him, the part of him that had a reputation for being difficult, wanted to stand up and call off the interview. But Cas’ weight leaning into him kept him steady. No matter how much his brain wanted out, his heart would take any opportunity to pretend to be Cas’ boyfriend.

            “Let’s talk about the elephant in the room,” Ellen said. “As I’m sure you’re both aware, there have been some crazy conspiracy theories about your relationship swirling around the internet. Any comment on that?”

            “It’s called a private life for a reason, Ellen,” Cas said.

            Dean shook his head. “Prude.”

            He felt Cas turn to stare at him. “Oh? I’m a prude, am I?”

            Dean glanced up and traced the movement of Cas’ tongue across his bottom lip. He bit the inside of his cheek as he swallowed. “Yeah,” he said, forcing his voice to steady but feeling himself fail. “You’re a prude.”

            “Do I seem so easily shocked to you?”

            “So easily.” Dean shook his head in a teasing manner. “Don’t you remember how you jumped that first night? How shocked you were that I wanted to touch your thigh?”

            Cas’ cheeks went bright red as his Adam’s apple bobbed. “At least I wasn’t hitting on a childhood crush while pretending not to know who he was.”

            “You wouldn’t.”

            Cas cocked an eyebrow at him and then turned back to Ellen. “I recently found out Dean lied to me when he said—”

            “I didn’t _lie_. Don’t be dramatic.” Dean rolled his eyes to get his point across. “It’s not my fault that twenty years later you don’t look like the same twink—”

            “I was _not_ a twink.”

            “I think _anyone_ who’s seen that movie would disagree. And would _agree_ that it’s completely impossible to recognize you now. So I didn’t lie. And I wouldn’t have hit on you had I known because that movie is _terrible_ and I would have been afraid for my reputation if I knew you were that bad at acting.”

            Cas let out a surprised laugh. “Well, same here, if I’d known you were in a boy band that catered exclusively to teenage girls. I bet you were even in some of those colourful magazines talking about your ideal partner.”

            “I... I wasn’t.”

            “Liar!” Cas covered his mouth as he laughed.

            The space between them was more pronounced now if only because they’d turned to face each other. Dean felt the smile on his face like an involuntary reaction he couldn’t fight. He reached forward and squeezed Cas’ hand before bringing it to his mouth and kissing his knuckles. “We’re getting off topic, babe.”

            Cas’ eyes flashed with something more than mischief, something that made Dean’s blood run hot. But, Cas turned back to Ellen, pulled his hand back, and said, “Did that answer your question?”

            “I’m not sure it did.” She looked between the two of them, her eyes narrowing. “How many days has Dean been home for now?”

            “Umm,” Cas stammered. He glanced at Dean, horror in his eyes, and Dean felt his stomach drop. Cas cleared his throat. “A few weeks now, actually.”

            Ellen nodded. “I see.” And then, before Dean could find the words for damage control, before Cas could take the interview back over with his incredible poise, she changed the topic. “I have a little game today that I’d like the two of you to play. Would you be up for that?”

            They agreed readily. Dean heard his heartbeat in his ears and wished the challenge was _anything_ other than directing a blindfolded Cas through a balloon maze. He had to keep his hands on Cas’ hip and whisper instructions in his ear.  His whole body was warm and blushing, electricity crackling under his fingertips. He felt like the camera could see it, the way they sparked when they were together. And if the cameras could see it, the world could too.

            After shooting wrapped, Dean washed the makeup off his face in the dressing room as Cas sat on the couch looking through his phone. Dean dried off with a towel and asked, “How bad?”

            “It’s...”

            But Cas barely got the word out before the dressing room door burst open. Both Charlie and Chuck stepped inside, Chuck fuming and Charlie an amusing mixture of worried and angry. Chuck was still on his phone, arguing with a reporter. Charlie had a man in a black suit by the arm and she dragged him into the middle of the room.

            “Beg him,” Charlie said, “beg this man not to put that shit show on the air!”

            Dean looked at Cas. Cas looked up at Charlie. He shook his head. “Twitter’s already on fire.”

            Charlie cursed and dropped the man’s arm. She stepped away, burying her face in her hands.

            “I don’t care if Lindsay _fucking_ Lohan needs you right now, Sam! We need you here, in L.A. like two motherfucking hours ago so you could have stopped whatever the fuck just happened on that stage,” Chuck shouted. “You are a _publicist._ I thought you said you _prepared_ them. I thought your job was fucking damage control!”

            Dean leaned into the doorjamb, feeling like all his organs were in the wrong places. An overwhelming sense of dread washed over him as he watched Chuck and Charlie pace through the room. Then, he shifted his eyes to Cas, who was already looking at him. His thoughts were clear on his face and Dean was, at the very least, happy to know they were on the same page. They were fucked.


	36. Chapter 36

Cas wished he’d gotten in more trouble as a kid. If he’d been to the principal’s office even once, maybe he would have been more experienced with the feeling churning in his stomach as the car took him further and further away from the studio. Charlie sat beside him in the back – she’d insisted on taking him back to the house herself and not letting him ride with Dean, a move that made Cas feel like a teenager who’d been caught fucking in his mom’s bed – but she was still on her phone. She had it on speaker as she spoke to the studio head at _Ellen,_ trying to get the interview pulled or at least delayed from airing, and she simultaneously texted three different people.

            Halfway back to the house, she muttered a dejected thank you and hung up. She sent one last text and then set her phone aside before looking at Cas. He felt her eyes on his cheek but didn’t look back at her, at least not until she said, “Hey.”

            Cas glanced her way. He really did feel like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar and the part of him that was still that perfect son of a failed preacher wanted to apologize profusely for every mistake he had ever made. But the older part of him, the grown-up, kept his mouth shut.

            “Do you need me to pull you?”

            “No.”

            Charlie pursed her lips. “Cas, I have known you for a very long time. I like to consider you my friend as well as a client and when this whole thing started, you made me promise that if it went too far, that if you caught feelings, I would pull you. But I can’t make a unilateral decision like that and screw up your career and Dean’s and piss off Chuck unless you tell me the truth. What the hell is going on?”

            “Nothing is going on.” Cas was surprised at how steady the words came out. “I don’t need you to pull me. I don’t have feelings for him.” The lie felt like a knife in his chest.

            “I don’t believe you.”

            “It’s the truth.”

            “Then what the hell did I just watch out there? What was that if not genuine emotion?”

            “It was...” Cas bit down on the words he didn’t know were coming and sighed instead. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You’ve got us cooped up in this big glass house, okay? He’s hot. He’s really fucking hot and he’s not on the same page we are about this. You’re not witnessing real, genuine emotion. You’re witnessing real, genuine sexual tension that we are apparently incapable of controlling.”

            “Okay. But how do we fix that? It’s not like you can fuck him. Or leave.”

            Cas let the silence hang a little longer than he should have.

            “You fucked him?”

            “Charlie. No.” He said the words too forcefully and moved on quickly to cover. “Look. It’s fine. We’ll figure it out. Sam is flying in. Everything is going to be okay.” He took her hand and squeezed. “We’ll get through this.”

            Charlie shook her head. “And to think when we started this thing we thought the hard part would be convincing the world you’re in love. But the whole world believes that, they just don’t believe you’re fucking.”

            “As a last resort, we can always go with the celibacy angle.”

            “It’s too late for that. That would damage the damage control. And everything would fall apart.” Charlie got back on her phone and fell silent.

            Cas tried not to take that personally. He knew she was on her phone to protect him, to help him, and that it was the only thing she could think of that would help at the moment. Part of him reared up, wanting to grab the phone from her and tell her the truth. The whole truth. Yes, they’d slept together. Yes, he felt like they were falling in love. Yes, he needed to be pulled the fuck out of this, his career be damned. But he held it back. Because admitting all of that, admitting any part of it, meant not seeing Dean again. It meant maybe never seeing him again. And Cas had spent long enough with his heart torn into pieces to not want to do it ever again.

            They pulled up in front of the house and the car was swarmed by reporters and cameras. Charlie steeled herself as she put her phone away and grabbed Cas’ hand. They pushed through the crowd. Cas felt the pressure of them all around him, nausea bubbling up in him, and their clamour was almost louder than backstage at Dean’s concert had been. Cameras clicked. People shouted. Notepads and microphones were shoved at him indiscriminately. He heard the door unlock and Charlie pushed him through before slamming it and throwing the deadbolt.

            But inside was no quieter.

            “We’re coming down the finish line here and you really can’t keep it in your damn pants?” Chuck was shouting. “All I asked was that you act like you don’t want to fuck the guy for a ten minute interview. Was that really so hard? Did it really not occur to you to tone down the sexy in an interview like that?”

            Dean’s face was in his hands as he sat on the couch. He didn’t seem to be listening, much less taking in Chuck’s criticism. Cas resisted the urge to sit down beside him and rub his back, offer him some sort of comfort. With Charlie and Chuck in the room, that seemed like the worst move he could make, so he flopped into the armchair instead and said, “Chuck, can you shut up? Yelling isn’t gonna do anything other than give us all headaches.”

            Chuck glared at him. “Oh? You think I’m only angry at him? What about you, Mr. Preacher’s Boy? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were a gay porn star the way you acted out there.”

            “Whoa!” Charlie shouted. She stepped up to Chuck with a wild glare. “Do not speak to him like that.”

            “Like you spoke to him any better,” Chuck snapped. “What the fuck? What the genuine, honest fuck?”

            Dean shot Cas a tired look and Cas opened his eyes wide to express his own exasperation. At least Chuck fell silent. But the tension in the room lingered as Charlie and Chuck remained on their feet, pacing around each other like tigers whose cages were banged up against to each other.

            “We need that video,” Chuck said.

            “Sam has it,” Charlie replied. “He’s bringing it.”

            “Who’s that gonna help?” Dean said. “Are you trying to place blame? Figure out who started it?”

            “You started it,” both Chuck and Charlie said to Dean.

            Dean frowned. “Cas said I had a childhood crush on him.”

            “You called me a prude,” Cas said.

            “You had your hands all over me.”

            “You called me a _twink_.”

            Charlie clapped her hands loudly. “You two arguing isn’t going to solve anything. You two arguing is, in fact, how we got into this mess in the first place. So unless you want us to set up a mud pit and get you some hot pink bikinis, just shut the fuck up.”

            Dean smirked and Cas swallowed his chuckle. He looked away from Dean and back at his hands before remembering his phone in his pocket. He started to look through his notifications as Charlie and Chuck continued to talk in hushed tones. As he scrolled through Instagram, he paused on a photo from Dean. A photo of him fast asleep in Dean’s arms. His heart twisted. Somehow, the picture hurt. He’d thought that night, the movie, falling asleep on the couch, was theirs. Not for the public, not for the act. But apparently he’d been wrong.

            He liked the picture anyways. It was what was expected of him.

            As time passed, Cas joined Charlie in the kitchen to make lunch for everyone. He turned on some music to prevent them from having to speak to fill the silence. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could lie to her, how often he could peddle the same lines, before she saw through his bullshit. He’d slipped up already. If he wanted to stay here, if he wanted to save his career, if he wanted to keep Dean in whatever twisted capacity he could, he’d have to keep his mouth shut.

            They ate in relative silence. Dean turned the TV over to a football game. Cas kept his spot in the armchair, as far from Dean as he could get without being weird about it, but he felt it was weird anyways. He kept glancing over at Dean until he decided that was weird too and fixed his eyes on the TV.

            A few hours later, he heard a commotion outside and stood up. Dean cursed and went for the door. A minute later, he’d pulled Sam inside and thrown the deadbolt again. All the curtains were down even though it was mid-afternoon and the shouts of the photographers could be heard through the walls.

            Sam huffed and straightened his suit jacket. He placed his briefcase on the coffee table, flipped it open, and pulled out a new set of folders. He handed one to each of them. This one was simply titled: _The Ellen Interview – Damage Control_. At the back of the folder, a blank disc sat in a plastic cover. Cas felt his stomach roll and wished he hadn’t ate.

            “We’re not gonna watch it,” Sam said. He gestured for everyone to take a seat and they did while he stayed on his feet. “I suggest you all watch it in your spare time to try to see where everything went wrong. I had some tech guys add graphics to show you what’s happening, where the interview falls off track, and what the final straw was.”

            “Let me guess,” Dean said. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “It blames it all on me.”

            Sam shook his head. “You’re both out of control here. It’s beyond blame.” Sighing, Sam continued, “This isn’t your typical damage control. Usually, my job is to prove people _aren’t_ sleeping together, not that they are. All you two had to do was act like normal people. All you had to do was not flirt.”

            “We could have acted like we hate each other. Or like we’re strangers. Would that have been better?” Dean challenged.

            Sam shot him a steady glare. “Stop being defensive.” He shifted his eyes to Cas who tried to hold his gaze. “That interview was terrible. It was worse than the last one. It was worse than everything that’s come before it. I asked you two to keep a low profile and not do anything stupid.”

            No one said anything.

            “Did you do anything stupid?”

            “No!” Dean exclaimed at the same moment Cas said, “Like what?”

            Sam shrugged. “You tell me.”

            “We didn’t do anything,” Dean snapped.

            “We kept a low profile just like you wanted,” Cas replied, aware of how defensive he sounded but unable to rein it in. “We even _called_ you before we went out on the weekend. You know everything that’s happened up to this point.”

            “Do I?” He raised an eyebrow.

            “Of course.”

            Sam bent the folder in his hands as he looked first at Cas, then at Dean, then back again. “So nothing happened?” he repeated. “You two didn’t do _anything_ that would affect how you performed out there today? That could affect the decisions I make going forward?”

            Cas glanced at Dean who shook his head, carefully avoiding Cas’ eyes. Cas shrugged when Sam looked back at him. With all the innocence he could muster, he said, “What could we have done?”

            Sam stared at him for a little longer than felt necessary, then nodded. He flipped to the first page of the folder and asked everyone to follow along. Cas bent his head and read every word as Sam spoke, half-listening and half-reading. His foot tapped against the floor and, at one point, Charlie reached out and touched his knee to stop the movement. Cas chewed on his lip instead.

            Night had fallen by the time Sam, Charlie, and Chuck left. Cas felt dizzy from the circles they had spent hours talking in. The official damage control plan was no plan. At this point, the easiest thing was just to ride it out and, while Cas would have been happy to take that sentence and let them all leave, Chuck and Charlie didn’t feel the same. Dean had even gotten in on the argument to protect his reputation as a sex object. Cas had barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

            As Cas poured the rest of the coffee pot down the drain, Dean said, “So that worked out well.”

            Cas exhaled a laugh, too tired to actually make the sound. He wanted to curl up in bed and go to sleep but he knew that with all the coffee he’d had to make it through Sam’s plan, he wouldn’t sleep until the early hours of the morning. He turned to see Dean leaning against the kitchen doorway. “I know,” Cas said. “I don’t know why they had to talk for so long about how we totally nailed that interview.”

            Dean smiled. Or, at least, his lips quirked upwards even if it didn’t reach his eyes. “Do you think they bought it?”

            “I don’t think we bought it.”

            “Well, we were lying.” Dean stepped into the kitchen and his eyes darted down the length of Cas’ body before meeting his eyes again. Cas felt his blood crackle with electricity, felt the urge to look Dean up and down too. Even rumpled from the conversation, bags under his eyes and steps slow, Dean looked so beautiful to him. Cas had the crazy urge to take a picture of him just to keep him like this for a little while longer.

            “Guess my strategy kind of sucked,” Cas said.

            Dean stepped closer. “Thought it was my strategy.” He rested his hands on either side of Cas, standing so close Cas could feel his breath against his face. “You know, the fuck-then-fuck-off method.”

            “You didn’t exactly fuck off.” Cas’ eyes darted down to Dean’s lips but he controlled himself. He shifted his hips back so he stood straighter, so there was at least a breath of space between their bodies.

            “It was too difficult.”

            Cas felt his heart skip a beat. “So what’s the new strategy?”

            “Well, fucking it out of our systems didn’t work at all, so, I’m thinking, the only way out of this whole mess is to keep fucking it out of our systems.”

            Cas laughed. “That’s your big solution? It didn’t work the first time so let’s try again?”

            “We fucked. We stopped. It didn’t work.” Dean’s nose rubbed up against his. He licked his lips and Cas felt his tongue ghost across his skin. “If we do it more, if we do it often, we’ll most likely stop exploding in front of interviewers.”

            Cas lost his breath when Dean grabbed onto his hip, pinning him against the counter. He was too close to see but Cas could feel him, feel all of him. He felt Dean’s hesitation in his fingertips, his desperation in the uneven pattern of his breath, and his reluctance in the pauses between his words. Cas closed his eyes tight and swallowed.

            “What do you think?” Dean whispered.

            “I still can’t get invested in this.” Cas had to force the words out. He knew he was already invested, already too far gone to make demands. Even if Dean said he’d only fuck him if they were married, Cas knew he’d fly to Vegas that night. “We’re still... it’s a business decision.” He swallowed around the lie and knew the shake in his voice gave him away.

            “Of course,” Dean said, sounding like he believed none of his bullshit. He tilted up Cas’ chin with two fingers. “A business decision.”

            Cas kissed him, light and lingering, feeling the tension in his body dissolve and then ramp right back up as he resisted the urge to start pulling off Dean’s clothes. He broke the kiss but Dean’s lips continued their path down his neck. “We should have some ground rules.”

            Dean murmured against his skin. “No hickeys. No telling the help.” His teeth grazed Cas’ collarbone and he pressed a kiss to his sternum. “We fuck when we want to. We keep it casual. No strings attached.”

            Cas almost laughed. “Fake dating with benefits.”

            Dean cupped his face in his hands and kissed him hard. Their hips slammed together and Cas groaned against his lips, giving in to what he wanted as his hands found their way under Dean’s shirt. He got it off, Dean pulled off Cas’ shirt, and then their hands were on each other’s belt buckles.

            Cas scrambled, his fingers trembling, as Dean expertly undid his fly. When he had Cas’ pants off, he shoved Cas’ hands off of him and got his own pants down. They crashed into another kiss, bare skin touching, Cas barely managing to kiss around the groans that kept bursting out of his throat.

            Dean’s hand grazed across his cock and Cas went to stop him. “No,” he said, too fast, muffled against Dean’s lips. But Dean looked up at him, scared. “Not like this. Not so fast,” Cas rambled, trying to reassure him and get the words out at the same time. “Let’s go upstairs, let’s do this right, let’s get the lube, let’s—”

            Dean shut him up with a fierce kiss. “We can do that later.” He released his hand from Cas’ grip and let his fingers run up his treasure trail. “We can do it tonight or tomorrow or in a week. We can do it in my bed or on the sofa or in your fucking dressing room, if you want. But not right now.”

            Cas swallowed his protests as lips pressed against his again and Dean started to jack them both off with fast, practiced strokes.


	37. Chapter 37

Dean felt like he spent three days in bed. He knew he didn’t, he knew he left the covers and wandered the house and tried to write new music, but every time Cas walked through the front door he was back in bed. All night long, they stayed up with their hands on each other. In the morning, Cas downed a pot of coffee and Dean went back to sleep until well past noon. He may not have spent three days in bed, but he spent three days in nothing more than his underwear and even that never seemed to stay on long.

            He lived in a haze of sex, kisses, and desperate pining. He would hate himself for it if it didn’t make it so much better when Cas came home. Every first kiss, every last kiss, every moment begging for Cas to stay in bed just a little longer, felt like a reprieve from a long frost. He spent maybe seven to eight hours a day conscious and without Cas but it felt like so much longer.

            Chuck called Monday morning, late enough that Cas had gone but early enough that Dean was still asleep. He rolled off of Cas’ side of the bed and reached for his phone. Without opening his eyes, he said, “Hello?”

            “Get up,” Chuck said. “I’m on my way over and we’re headed over to the label to do some contract negotiation. I need you dressed, fed, caffeinated and looking halfway decent in twenty minutes.”

            Dean groaned as he rubbed his eyes. “That might be cutting it close.”

            “Mr. Roman has cleared half an hour in his schedule to talk to you personally.”

            “I hate him.”

            “He’s the head of the label. Get dressed.”

            The call cut off and Dean seriously considered going back to sleep, label be damned. Dick be damned. Then, with a sigh, Dean sat up and rubbed the last of the sleep out of his eyes. He showered, dressed, and made his way downstairs. As he turned into the kitchen, he saw coffee still in the machine and a yellow sticky note with Cas’ writing on it: _for whenever you wake up <3_

Dean smiled, took the note, and shoved it in his back pocket. He poured himself a mug and unwrapped a breakfast bar, taking turns between sipping and munching. Chuck rung the bell all too soon but Dean made his way to the door, shoved a pair of sunglasses on, and walked out into sunshine and camera flashes. Chuck grabbed his arm to lead him forward but once the paparazzi realized it was just Dean, no Cas, they backed off.

            As they slipped into the car, Dean said, “Remember when I was enough for them?”

            Chuck smiled. “You’re not a walking scandal anymore.”

            Dean sunk down lower in the seat and let his head rest back against the leather as the car moved forward. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

            “Good for the label, not great for your image, but we can get that back once the ink is dry.”

            Dean opened one eye to look at Chuck who was thoroughly engrossed in his phone. “What do you mean by that?”

            Chuck didn’t even glance his way. “You know. Once the label signs you back and Cas’ new movie is a hit, you amicably separate, still friends, blah, blah, blah. We build back your reputation as a bad boy, minus the actual scandals, before the album releases and everything goes back to normal.”

            Dean nodded even though his gut rolled. His eyes fluttered closed again even though he couldn’t really say he was tired. Exhausted, maybe. Sore. But almost none of him wanted to be asleep, not when being awake meant the possibility of seeing Cas. The little, almost non-existent part of him that wanted to sleep, was the part that knew Chuck was right. Filming would wrap soon. The label would sign him or another label would. The movie premiere was six, seven months out at most. And even though that seemed like an eternity, Dean knew it could blow by in the snap of his fingers.

            The car rolled into the underground parking lot. Dean and Chuck were dropped at the elevator doors and Chuck pressed the button for the top floor as Dean leaned back against the wall. “Lose the glasses,” Chuck said.

            “I’m a rock star,” Dean said. “The glasses are part of my look.”

            Chuck pulled the glasses off his face.

            The doors dinged open and a young, blonde woman in a fashionable black dress stood there holding two glasses of water. She handed them out, then said, “Welcome to Mr. Roman’s private office. He’s running just a touch behind but will be available to see you soon.” She took a step back as they exited the elevator and continued, “Is there anything else I can get for you while you wait?”

            “Got anything stronger?” Dean said.

            “He’s joking.” Chuck forced a smile. “We’re fine, thank you.”

            As they sat down on the plush leather chairs, Dean said, “I wasn’t joking.”

            “It’s still morning for another hour. You can drink after the meeting.”

            Dean rolled his eyes as he sipped the ice water. It had been infused with cucumber and maybe a touch of lemon. He licked his lips and took a bigger gulp. Chuck looked at him out of the corner of his eye, curious, but said nothing. Dean could practically hear his thoughts – _you know you can’t get drunk off water_. He subtly flipped Chuck off, holding the glass with just his middle finger up.

            His phone buzzed and he looked down to see the text from Cas.

            **Cas:** _hope you made it out of bed for the meeting_

**Dean:** _how’d you know about it if I didn’t_

**Cas:** _Chuck called last night but I didn’t want to wake you_

**Cas:** _would’ve told you this morning but you distracted me_

Dean grinned but before he could think of the perfect reply, the blonde woman reappeared with her plastered on smile. “If you’ll follow me,” she said, “Mr. Roman will see you now.”

            Dean groaned as he got out of the chair, all his muscles screaming. He flipped Chuck off when he called him an old man. If one of the rules wasn’t firmly _don’t tell the help_ , he would have told Chuck in visceral detail exactly _why_ he was swore. See how much of an old man he was then. But he kept his mouth shut because Chuck knowing was a short road to Charlie knowing and if Charlie knew, she’d kill him, Cas, and then probably herself.

            Mr. Roman sat behind a wide mahogany desk and did not stand to great them. _Dick_. Then, out loud, Dean said, “Dick. Great to see you again.” His smile was wide and fake as he could make it, but the other man matched it with enthusiasm and thinly veiled hatred.

            “Mr. Winchester,” Mr. Roman said with a plastic smile as Dean and Chuck sat down. “I’m sorry to make you come all the way down here to talk about something as simple as a contract. But, as I understand it, you’ve been having some trouble with our terms?”

            “Yeah, some trouble.”

            Chuck shot him a sharp look and Dean shut up. With a practiced smile, Chuck slipped right into manager mode and took over. “Mr. Roman, we were promised if Dean kept all his obligations on the extended tour and wasn’t involved in any scandals, that we could expect a contract renewal. We believe that we’ve met the terms of this agreement.”

            “Do you?” Mr. Roman drummed his fingers against his pursed lips. “I’m afraid the label simply doesn’t agree. There’s been quite a bit of scandal revolving around Mr. Winchester’s relationship lately, don’t you think?”

            “You’re not seriously counting a bunch of trumped up conspiracy theories as a scandal,” Dean snapped. He wrapped his hand tightly around the chair’s armrest to prevent himself from completely going off on the guy. For once, he was grateful for the stiff-backed wooden chairs in Mr. Roman’s office. The pain gave him something to focus on.

            Mr. Roman shrugged prettily, like he was putting on an act for some reality show. “The label’s publicists certainly see it as concerning. How are we supposed to believe you’ve truly changed when your relationship seems so fraught? One might even go so far as to call it fake.”

            “My relationship with Cas—”

            “Is beside the point,” Chuck said, perhaps a little too sharply. The look in his eyes when he glanced at Dean was anything but friendly. He focused again on Mr. Roman, his smile a little strained. “We’re here to talk about the contract. Dean’s relationship shouldn’t affect his music. I’d hope you’d agree, Mr. Roman.”

            “Certainly.” He looked down, as if checking some device underneath his desk and paused for a long time. Then, he sighed. “But it speaks to the concerns we expressed about Dean before. He’s a loose cannon and completely unpredictable. After all, who would have predicted that he, of all people, would be celibate with his boyfriend of three months?”

            Dean smirked. “We’re far from celibate, I can assure you of that.”

            “But you can’t seem to assure the press. And I’m tired of your name popping up all over my Google alerts, Mr. Winchester. It’s enough to give a man an early heart attack.”

            Dean ground his teeth as Chuck lay a hand on his arm, squeezing tightly. Chuck said, “We understand your concern. But we’re afraid your requests are just... unreasonable for an artist of Dean’s critical acclaim.”

            “I think they’re perfectly reasonable. In fact, I asked for the demo myself.”

            Dean blinked at him, then looked at Chuck.

            Chuck seemed just as surprised. “May I ask why?”

            “It’s simple,” Mr. Roman said. “Dean, as an artist, has shown he’s unreliable and hard to control. Even if his boyfriend has been successful in changing him, I find it hard to believe that he’s had enough time to tour, maintain a successful relationship, _and_ start working on new music.” He smiled condescendingly, his lips twisting up like a snake at rest, every inch of him completely relaxed. “But, perhaps you have been working on new music and that’s why your sex life seems to be suffering.”

            Dean grimaced but made no move to speak. Every word on the tip of his tongue was a curse word and even he knew cussing out the head of his label was a bad move. Not to mention the death grip Chuck had on his arm prevented him from having enough blood flow to successfully flip the guy off.

            Mr. Roman pushed back from his desk, his chair rolling back. He got to his feet and buttoned his suit jacket. “I’ve asked you for a demo so you can prove you have a successful work/life balance. And I expect said demo by the end of next week. Or no contract, no new album, and no more music.”

            Dean opened his mouth to protest but Mr. Roman went on, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a flight to catch. There’s a promising new act in Dallas that I’ve been asked to check out _personally_. My assistant will show you out.”

            And before Dean could so much as mutter the guy’s name, he was out the door. A second later, the blonde woman returned with fresh water glasses and ushered them towards the elevator. She took the glasses before the door closed. Dean slumped against the back wall and closed his eyes tight; he hoped that if he wished hard enough, he’d wake up in bed and realize this had all been a twisted nightmare. Dick certainly always seemed like a nightmare.

            “Do you have anything ready?” Chuck asked.

            Dean shook his head. They rode the rest of the way in silence.

 

The last thing Dean wanted to do was sit quietly in a coffee shop with Cas across from him when they could be back at the house, sweaty and wrapped up in his sheets. But Sam had insisted they do something normal, something to make them seem like any other couple, and the coffee shop had won out. It was just a block from Dean’s house and open until two a.m., making it ideal for meeting up after shooting.

            Cas nudged his foot under the table. He had a stack of brand new scripts in front of him that he’d been marking up and Dean, in turn, had been trying to write lyrics to a new song. But everything he wrote sounded dumb. _You’re like alcohol on my breath, beer in my head, wine down my throat._ He crossed out the line. Cas nudged his foot again. Dean looked up.

            “You okay?” Cas asked, keeping his voice low.

            Dean glanced to the side to where a young woman with dark hair sat bent over a notebook. She had headphones in but they didn’t seem to be plugged into anything and her pen only moved when they spoke. On the other side of the window, half a dozen photographers stood, waiting for a good shot, like they thought they might fuck on top of a public table in a coffee shop. Dean shrugged.

            Cas reached for his hand and curled their fingers together. A few cameras flashed. Dean stared at their hands, felt the gentle touch tingle across his hand, and couldn’t help a slight smile. “No,” he said, honestly. “The label’s still insisting on the demo. And there’s no one’s head to go over because Dick asked for it himself.”

            Cas licked his bottom lip. “You don’t have anything to record? You’ve been in the studio for days.”

            Dean wasn’t about to admit he’d been in the studio for days messing around with old love songs, tuning every guitar he owned, and waiting for Cas in the stupid, fantasy-fueled hope that he might get fucked on the sound board. That had yet to happen even when Cas stumbled home to find him and stopped in the studio door. The guy had a strong preference for the bedroom which Dean had yet to cajole him out of.

            He shrugged. “Nothing that’s ready.”

            “Nothing?”

            “The only thing that’s remotely close is the song about Ben,” Dean admitted. He swallowed hard and glanced over at the reporter, but the frown on her face told him their whispers were quiet enough to confuse her. “And I can’t record that without talking to Lisa first.”

            Cas’ fingers tapped on Dean’s palm. He glanced down at the script in front of him, lip pinned under his teeth, and Dean knew he was thinking, not reading. It was amazing how easily he could read Cas’ movements. He knew by the look in his eyes if he was happy or sad or turned on or frustrated. He knew before Cas spoke if he wanted him to stop or keep going, but he always asked anyways. With just a touch of his hand or a bite of his lips, Dean could tell if his brain was working or if he had spaced out. And he’d grown to love the indent in Cas’ lip that he chewed a little deeper every time he was deep in thought. Dean wanted to bite it more than anything but he also didn’t want to change the shape, just in case.

            “Why not ask her?”

            “Cas—”

            “I have Friday off, then the weekend. The movie’s almost done.” Cas spoke quickly like he was afraid to be interrupted. “So we fly out to Kansas, see Lisa, you can ask her about the song, maybe play it for her, and then you have all of next week to finalize and record it.”

            Dean stared at him for a long moment. “I can’t see her. I haven’t spoken to her since.”

            “It’s been years Dean.”

            “She thinks I killed her son.” Dean pulled his hand back and registered the hurt that flashed through Cas’ eyes. He almost didn’t care. His heart beat at the base of his throat. “I can’t put her through that. I can’t... play her a song about how I miss him when she thinks it’s my fault he’s gone.”

            “You don’t know that she still thinks that. She was grieving and angry and she took it out on you. She shouldn’t have.” Cas glanced towards the reporter and licked his lips. He continued in a lower voice, although his tone was just as forceful. “Call her. Ask if you can come out and play her something.”

            “I can’t.”

            “It’s facing her or facing the end of your career.”

            Dean stared at him for a long moment.

            “You’ve already lost her.”

            Dean heard the words that came after that. _Don’t lose me too_.

            “All right,” he said.


	38. Chapter 38

Cas had to admit that Charlie’s policies worked – not seeing Balthazar kept him focused on acting, playing the part, and far from ready to punch the guy out the second he saw him. Not to mention that blowing off steam with Dean helped get rid of all the pent up tension he used to have. Now, being on set was a breeze. Wake up early, get coffee, meet Anna to go through the schedule, and start filming.

            The only hitch in the routine lately had been booking flights out to Kansas. He had sat down at the computer as Dean paced behind him, his fingers hesitating over her name in his phone contacts. Cas didn’t want to think about how often Dean had changed his phone since leaving her and how many times he had copied her number over, just in case. Even thinking about thinking about it set his heart on edge.

            Eventually, Dean had called. Cas had sat in the hall, the door to Dean’s bedroom wedged open so only the edges of words reached him. He tried to block it all out as he finalized their flight plans, wrote in the credit card number, and waited to book it until Dean gave him the go ahead. Dean had opened the door, said, “Book it,” and then rolled into the covers like the ten minute conversation had exhausted him. Cas had let him sleep and gone into the guest bedroom instead.

            But with the trip still two days away, Cas went ahead with business as usual. He arrived at set with a coffee in hand and listened as Anna ran through the day’s scenes. Cas felt a spark of worry in his stomach as he realized the day would be filled with Balthazar. And they were filming the early scenes. The scenes where they were in love, where he had to smile and play nice, where he couldn’t act like an abusive asshole because the ghosts hadn’t started to drive him crazy yet.

            When Anna noticed the hard set of his lips, she said, “Something wrong?”

            Cas shook his head as he headed right for wardrobe. As he dressed, he sent a quick good morning text to Dean – his way of wondering if he was awake without seeming too pushy or clingy or whatever the right word was when you lived with your fake boyfriend who you were also actively fucking. He had missed Dean’s arms around him last night. He had missed waking up to kisses on the back of his neck. Dean usually woke before Cas’ alarm went off and sometimes turned it off completely so he could wake him up more pleasantly.

            Dean’s text came back when Cas had moved on to hair and makeup. _What’s up?_

Cas blinked at the words but he supposed he had given himself away. He wasn’t a _good morning_ texter and, even if he was, he would know better than to send a text to Dean before noon. So he wrote back, as casually as he could, about the scenes he had to tape with Balthazar that day and how he was worried about his acting ability. He almost didn’t send it. It felt stupid when Dean was gearing up to see the love of his life, a woman who had accused him of killing her son. But he hit send anyways.

            The next text didn’t come in until he was almost on set. Cas could see Balthazar sitting on the edge of the sound stage, sipping coffee as Bobby spoke to him. He looked back at his phone. _I know you’re so method you’re almost never acting but don’t you remember what it’s like to be in love?_

The word _remember_ tripped him up. Did he _remember_. And, of course, he did remember. He remembered Kelly being the biggest and brightest thing in his life. He remembered meeting a girl who was everything his parents had raised him to want and being amazed that such a perfect woman even existed. He remembered kissing her like doing anything else would stop his breath, holding her while she cried, and reassuring her every step of the way. But the more he remembered, the less that felt like love and the more it felt like worship.

            Cas handed his phone off to the nervous PA who asked for it and approached Bobby and Balthazar. Bobby glanced his way and said, “Good. I was just about to tell your buddy here that I need a clean, civil scene from you two today.”

            “And here I thought we were supposed to be in love,” Balthazar said.

            “I’ll settle for the whole thing coming out like you’re not about to kill each other.” Bobby handed a marked up script to Cas and Cas quickly read over the blocking changes as he continued, “Preferably, you’d be in love. Happy to move in to your new house. Excited about the potential renovations.”

            Cas nodded. He avoided looking at Balthazar as he kept reading through the notes. All in all, it was a simple scene, a set up for the later blow up during the actual renovations. Tomorrow, he supposed, they’d be on location at the house to shoot the exterior scenes. But until then, he had to pretend to be interested in the colour of the walls.

            They took their marks at the edge of the set. Balthazar slung his arm over Cas’ shoulder and whispered, “Sure you’ll be able to handle this, Castiel? We both know _real_ acting isn’t your strong suit.”

            Cas bristled but bit his tongue against the retort on his lips. Instead, he closed his eyes and focused on the character. He focused on the want to build a life with someone, to start something, and an image of Kelly started to form behind his eyes. It was a memory from when she was pregnant with Claire. She had stood in the nursery with two pails of paint, wondering if green or yellow would fit the baby better. Claire had always been a mystery to her, even in the early days, but, somehow, the moment Kelly found out she was pregnant with Jack, she knew it was a boy. She knew he’d like his room to be white. Jack had never asked for it to be repainted.

            Bobby called action and Cas opened his eyes to the decrepit looking kitchen. He leaned into Balthazar’s arm and let the lines leave his lips. As he turned to face Balthazar, he kept the smile on his face without a struggle. He even grabbed his coat and kissed him without much effort. The joy of painting, of bringing a room together, of starting a life, filled his heart as he remembered getting the house ready for the baby with Kelly.

            Bobby called cut.

            “Thinking of your wife?” Balthazar said. “That’s a ballsy trick.”

            The joy blinked out. “Don’t talk between scenes. It’ll make this easier.”

            They barrelled through six takes before Bobby was satisfied. Then they went back to wardrobe and returned for the scene where they saw the bedroom for the first time. Cas knew most of this scene was making out, the dialogue sparse, so he applied lip balm and tried not to think about how kissing Balthazar made his skin crawl. He’d done it before, he’d do it again.

            “This brings us full circle, doesn’t it?” Balthazar said as he paced the set, waiting for the cameras to slide into place. “You kiss Kelly, I kiss Kelly, then I kiss you.”

            Cas glared at him. “What did I say about talking?”

            “What are you going to do, Castiel? Sick your boyfriend on me again?”

            Cas almost smiled. Through the concealer, he could just see the yellowing edges of the bruise on Balthazar’s cheek. The thought relaxed him. “I’m sure Dean would be happy to repeat the favour,” Cas said. “Especially after the thanks I gave him last time.”

            “What did I say about your sex life and my set?” Bobby snapped but he moved them into the scene before Cas could apologize.

            Throughout the scene, he knew he smiled too much into the kisses. All he could think of was Dean punching Balthazar in the face, of Dean kissing him like the world might just fall apart without him. Cas had had a lot of experience kissing through smiles lately and the feeling came naturally. As long as he closed his eyes and imagined someone else kissing him, the scene went smoothly. Those few times Balthazar got handsy or bit his lip too hard, the scene fell apart.

            Cas spent lunch with Anna and managed to get her to talk about something other than the movie. Once comfortable, she spoke at length about a script she was writing and Cas did his best to convince her to let him read it. In the end, she still insisted it wasn’t ready so he didn’t push further. He had one more scene to shoot – the sex scene with Balthazar – and then he’d be done for the day.

            He spent hours in makeup, wrapped up his cock, and cuddled up in a fuzzy robe as he padded towards the bedroom set. The room was bright and airy compared to the bedroom he’d done the scene with Dean in. This one had yellow walls, daisies on the sheets, and a shag carpet. Cas smiled until Balthazar clapped a hand on his shoulder.

            “This brings back memories,” he said.

            Cas frowned. “What memories?” He regretted the words as soon as he said them.

            “You don’t recognize those sheets? You and Kelly had the same ones.”

            Cas let his eyes fall to the white sheets pinpricked with daisies and the sunny yellow comforter laid over them. Even the white and gold pillows at the head of the bed seemed familiar. His shoulders tensed. His nails bit into his palms. But he closed his eyes against the urge to explode and pinched the bridge of his nose.

            “Having second thoughts?” Balthazar crooned in his ear. He was so close the heat from his body pressed against Cas’ back. “No one would blame you if you couldn’t fuck the man who cuckolded you on your marital bed.”

            “You did this?” Cas whirled on him and took a step back to put distance between them. “You designed this set? You purposefully _tried_ to piss me off?”

            Balthazar shrugged.

            “Why would you do this? We’re both on this film. We’re both trying to make a great movie here. All you had to do was keep your damn mouth shut and read your fucking lines.” Cas saw the spit flinging out from his mouth. He took a step closer to Balthazar and lowered his voice to a hiss. He could feel the crew leaning in to hear him, the buzzing tension in the room. “Why would you sabotage your own damn movie?”

            He laughed right in Cas’ face. “My movie? I can book whatever film I want with the snap of my fingers. This is decidedly _your_ movie.”

            Cas blinked. “It wasn’t enough to fuck my wife, you had to screw me too?”

            “It’s just for fun, man. Nothing personal.”

            Bobby appeared on set at just that moment and his presence was the only thing that kept Cas from punching Balthazar right in his pretty, porcelain teeth. Cas stepped back, turned to Bobby, and said, “I’m not shooting this scene. You can use my body double or shoot us separately and CGI it. But I’m not shooting this scene.” And then, as calmly as he could, he walked off the set.

 

It surprised Cas more that it took Charlie twenty minutes to call than it surprised him that she knew to call. Whether she had a sixth sense or just really good connections in the film industry, he’d never gotten the answer from her. He picked up on the third ring as he walked down the street in the chilly wind. The company car apparently only picked him up at the end of his day and, since that wasn’t supposed to be for another few hours, it wasn’t available.

            “You walked out?” Charlie said in lieu of greeting.

            Cas sighed. “You should have heard him, Charlie.”

            “I don’t blame _you_.” She huffed out an annoyed breath. “But, unfortunately, we’re too late in shooting to demand Gabe is recast. You’re going to have to deal with him for a few more days. There’s no way around it.”

            “We only have three more scenes.” Cas had been counting them down since the first day of filming. The only scenes left were the initial run through of the house with the real estate agent – a scene that didn’t even call for him to speak to Balthazar; the moving-in scene which was no more than a minute long; and, finally, the scene where he murdered Balthazar and got away scot free. He looked forward to that last one. “I’ll survive.”

            “Two more days with Balthazar and then three more days to wrap the rest of it,” Charlie said, forcing cheer into her voice. “You’ll do great.”

            “Thanks.” Cas said as he stopped at a bus bench. He glanced to the side as the two girls already there stopped talking to look at him, then burst into giggles. He wondered if this was how it felt to be Dean, to be recognized at every turn, to have people pull out their phones whenever he left the house. “I’ll call you back.”

            He waited ten minutes for the bus and the ride took another twenty. After that, he still had to walk twelve minutes to make it back to Dean’s plus the additional seven minutes for the detour he took to Starbucks to bring home coffee and croissants. He ate half his own croissant on the way home and considered eating Dean’s too before he even knew it was there. Chocolate smeared all over his face, he made his way up the front walk to the click of cameras and stepped inside the house.

            “Dean?” he called.

            No reply came except the strumming of a guitar. Cas walked back to the studio, coffee and croissant in hand as he tried to lick the chocolate off his lips. He entered the studio and set down the food. The guitar playing stopped abruptly, followed by a peel of Dean’s laughter. As Cas looked up, he saw Dean approaching him.

            “Nice look.” He kissed him hard, then licked his thumb and brushed chocolate off his cheek. “God, that got everywhere.” He started to plant kisses over the part of Cas’ skin that felt sticky, his tongue following every press of his lips, until Cas pushed him back, laughing.

            “I think you got it.”

            “You’d think, wouldn’t you?” Dean swiped a finger over Cas’ nose and showed it to him covered in chocolate. Then he popped his finger into his mouth and sucked it until it came out of his lips with a pop. He raised both eyebrows when he noticed the trajectory of Cas’ eyes.

            Cas shook off the urge. “Aren’t you wondering why I’m home so early?”

            Dean blinked and glanced towards the clock on the wall. “Didn’t notice.”

            Cas flopped down on the chair in front of the soundboard and let his fingers wander over the controls. He didn’t move any though, as he didn’t know what they did and he didn’t want to mess up whatever Dean was doing. He picked up his own coffee, then pushed the other cup and the bag with the croissant towards Dean.

            “You want me covered in chocolate too?” Dean tore off the end of the pastry and stuck it in his mouth. “All you had to do was ask.”

            Cas flipped him off lazily. “How’s the song going?”

            Dean shrugged and perched half on top of the sound board, the keys moving under his weight. Cas watched them shift, heard them screech, and then let his eyes flick up the length of Dean’s body back to his face. But Dean was more focused on picking pieces off his croissant.

            “It’s going,” he said. “It’s done, really. But I’m not happy with the bridge and the chorus sounds stiff and... Lisa’s gonna hate it.”

            “You don’t know that.”

            “I do.” Dean glanced over at him and then kicked him lightly in the knee. “How was your day?”

            Cas sighed heavily.

            “That good?”

            “Balthazar basically said he only took the role to make it harder for me to act so that the movie would flop and my career would crash and burn.” Cas shook his head as Dean tried to make the chair spin under him. Cas dragged his feet, just barely holding still. “And a bunch of other shit about Kelly.”

            “Anything I can do to make it better?”

            Cas shrugged. “Can you make me forget I kissed that snake?”

            “Probably.” Dean turned the chair towards him with a foot and then, without warning, dropped down from the soundboard and right into Cas’ lap. Cas almost dropped him before catching his hands around his waist and Dean leaned back enough to support some of his weight on the table. He dipped his head down and kissed Cas softly. “Does that help?”

            Cas hummed. “A little.”

            Dean pressed their lips together again, soft and slow. One of his hands curled around the back of Cas’ neck, fingers tangling in his short hair. Dean’s other hand ran down Cas’ chest, slow and heavy, nails scraping at him through the cotton of his shirt. Cas moaned into the kiss, moving his lips in time with Dean’s.

            As Dean’s lips slipped to his neck, Cas managed, “I didn’t really mean to distract you.” He let his breath go as Dean sucked at his pulse point. “If you were working...”

            “Nope. Don’t remember working.” Dean pecked his lips and smiled. His eyes blurred in front of Cas’ face as he settled their foreheads together. “In fact, I remember being asked to cover myself in chocolate.”

            Cas laughed into the next kiss and their teeth clashed together. But Dean smoothed the pain with his tongue as his hand crept lower to cup Cas’ crotch. He rubbed his fingers over the inseam of Cas’ jeans. “I didn’t ask that,” Cas mumbled as he kissed his way down Dean’s jaw, relishing the feeling of his stubble against his lips.

            “Huh. Must have been implied.”

            Cas closed his eyes and his mouth around a moan as Dean undid his zipper. “We should move this upstairs,” he said.

            “This room is soundproof.”

            “Who are we hiding from?”

            Dean chuckled and kissed him again. “Well, since the world believes we’re fucking now, I don’t think we have to go up against the windows anymore.”

            “We’ve never...” Cas struggled to get the words out between kissing and breathing and the unwelcome sounds tickling his throat as Dean wrapped his hand around his cock. He kissed the base of Dean’s throat and then down his sternum, his hand pulling down the collar of Dean’s t-shirt and stretching it beyond repair. “Went up against... the windows.”

            “Maybe that’s another fantasy.”

            “Oh, yeah?” Cas glanced up to meet Dean’s green eyes. He smiled. “What’s this fantasy?”

            Dean’s lips curled upwards and mischievous glint passed through his eyes. “I’ve always wanted to get fucked on top of this soundboard.”

            Cas frowned. “That’s expensive equipment, Dean.”

            “Expensive equipment that can record every sound.” Dean caught Cas’ chin in his hand and kissed him heavily, his tongue exploring every inch of Cas’ mouth. “Come on, babe. Don’t you want to know what you sound like? Don’t you want it on tape so you can play it when you’re alone at night?”

            Cas moaned into the kiss, the logical part of his brain failing to keep up its arguments as Dean stroked his aching cock with deliberately slow twists of his wrist. Then, Dean let go all together and pulled off his shirt. He tugged at the bottom of Cas’ shirt too and Cas let him take it off, despite the protests dying on his lips. With only a slight turn, Dean reached behind him and flicked a switch. The red RECORDING sign over the studio door blinked on.

            Cas stared at it for a long moment. “This is a bad idea.”

            “I’m gonna use it as my fucking ringtone,” Dean said, his voice incredibly steady, a feat Cas found almost inhuman given his erection. “And you’re gonna put it on your phone and play it on your headphones every time you fly home to me, all right?”

            Cas kissed him in response. He kissed him through Dean’s laughter, through urging him to stand up and get to his feet, through their hands pulling down pants and boxers. With his hands on Dean’s ass and their limbs tangled together, Cas said, “Wait. There’s no lube in here.”

            “You really think I’m that innocent, don’t you?” Dean opened up a drawer under the recording panel to reveal lube and condoms. He smiled at Cas, then kissed him. “I promise you’re the first I’ve used them with.”

            “So if I look through your computer, this is the only audio recording I’ll find?”

            “Promise.”

            Cas sighed past his inevitable regrets, past the stupidity of the whole thing, and grabbed the lube out of the drawer. He warmed it between his fingers before asking Dean to turn around. Dean leaned up against the soundboard and pushed his hips back, arching his back to put himself more fully on display. Cas rubbed his hand across Dean’s ass before spreading his cheeks and dipping a finger inside. Dean moaned.

            “You’re getting looser,” Cas said as he added a second finger with ease. He stroked his other hand up Dean’s spine. “Soon I might not be enough for you.” He kissed his back as he twisted his fingers up to find his G-spot, loving the way Dean groaned with every movement.

            Dean huffed out a breath. “I regret this location.”

            Cas chuckled. “Why’s that?”

            “You try having your dick pressed up against a soundboard.”

            Cas laughed again as he added a third finger. He bit his lip as the sound Dean let out ripped through the air and he imagined the ability to play it on repeat. If possible, his dick got harder as he pressed it up against the back of Dean’s thighs. It slipped in between them and Cas let out a heavy moan.

            “Fuck,” Dean bit out.

            “Change of plans.” Cas slipped his fingers out of Dean and pulled him back by the hip. Reaching around him, their bodies flush together and already sweaty, sticky, Cas pushed up all the controls to make the flattest surface on the soundboard he could.

            “You’ll distort the sound,” Dean said.

            “We can adjust it later.” He spun Dean around and hiked him up onto the board, earning another curse and a huff of hot air on his neck. He kissed Dean hard, aware he wouldn’t be a fan of the new plan either in Dean’s position. Taking hold of his own cock, he rubbed it up against Dean’s thighs and then pinned down Dean’s hips. He thrust in between his thighs, feeling the sticky heat of them enveloping his cock and broke the kiss with a gasp.

            “What the fuck,” Dean breathed out but he made no move to stop him. He reached forward and grasped Cas’ hair. His thighs trembled as Cas snapped his hips, fucking between his legs with increased urgency. Dean whined. “This isn’t... fuck... this isn’t getting me off.”

            Cas let out a breathless laugh. “No?” He skimmed his hand as close to Dean’s dick as he could get without losing his grip on him and Dean let out a pathetic whine, the kind of sound that would haunt Cas’ dreams, recording or not. “Seems like you like it.”

            He leaned in and kissed Dean’s neck as he snapped his hips forward, pre-come and sweat making for a smooth slide as Dean whimpered. Cas felt his orgasm building up in his muscles, in every snap of his hips, and then Dean started begging.

            “Please... please, touch me. Cas... Cas, please. I need to be... touched.”

            Cas bit his earlobe and snapped his hips with more force. Dean jolted, whimpering and Cas kissed his cheek. “A few more minutes,” he whispered. “You can last.”

            “I can’t. Fuck, Cas... I can’t. Please.”

            Their lips met and Cas thrilled at how easily Dean ceded control as Cas swept his tongue inside his mouth. He pressed his thighs closer together, thrust into the wet heat of his legs as his cock dripped down onto the mess of his legs. He whimpered and tried to beg even as Cas kept his lips occupied and with four more thrusts, he came, wet and messy across Dean’s chest as Dean heaved out his breath and Cas pressed warm, open-mouthed kisses down the length of Dean’s neck.

            Then, still kissing him as his body relaxed and buzzed post-orgasm, Cas dropped down to his knees and took Dean’s red, bulging cock into his mouth. It didn’t take much. A swipe of his tongue and the hollowing of his cheeks and Dean came down his throat. Cas licked up as much of the mess as he could on his way to his feet, his legs feeling weak and shaky. He pressed a salty kiss to Dean’s lips.

            “What the fuck,” Dean breathed out.

            Cas smiled into the kiss, their noses brushing together, his eyelashes hitting Dean’s skin. He kept his hand at Dean’s hip, fingers pressing into his skin. “Are you all right?”

            “I need eighteen showers.” Dean sounded like he was trying to complain, but his voice was weak and raw, like Cas had fucked his throat and not his thighs. “I think that’s the hardest I’ve ever come in my life.”

            Cas chuckled. “The shower would be closer if we’d gone to the bedroom.”

            “Yeah, but I also wouldn’t be covered in come,” Dean retorted.

            “And neither would your equipment.”

            Dean’s brow furrowed and Cas backed up enough to see his face. “Honestly,” Dean said, “if you think a trek to a shower and a bit of a mess is enough to convince me we belong in the bedroom when you just fucked me within an inch of my life, you’re wrong, babe. If anything, that just convinced me that there’s not a surface in this house I won’t try to convince you to fuck me on.”

            Cas laughed but Dean caught his bottom lip between his teeth as he slipped off of the soun board. Out of the corner of his eyes, Cas saw the red RECORDING light go out. He let his eyes close as he slipped into the kiss and Dean’s hands wandered down his back.

            “Do we need to...” Cas faltered the words as he tried to bring himself back on track. His whole body trembled. He really didn’t think he could make it upstairs to the shower. “Is there anything...”

            “The Starbucks pictures quelled the worst of it.” Dean kissed his lips, his cheek, his nose and then pushed him backwards a step or two. “All we need to do is get in the shower, not get dressed, and wait until our cocks work again.”


	39. Chapter 39

Dean distracted himself from the worst of his fears by holding onto Cas like a lifeline. He wondered if Cas even noticed that he’d barely left his side, that he’d held onto him with tight fingers and fierce kisses as the trip to Kansas got closer. Even though his fears never went away, they softened when he had Cas’ hands on him and he forgot them when Cas’ breath played across his lips.

            As they headed to the airport, Dean sat close in the back of the car and rested his head on Cas’ shoulder. Cas’ fingers played through his hair. They were both focused on their phones. Dean could see Cas answering texts in between rounds of Candy Crush. Dean, on the other hand, was finalizing recording times with Chuck in a premature move to get the demo done next week. He felt sick to his stomach but also oddly drowsy and safe.

            The car approached the airport and Dean took a picture of the LAX sign on Snapchat. _Leaving Los Angeles_ he captioned it before uploading it to his story. They slid out of the car with their hands clasped together, got their bags from the back, and headed inside. Cas went right for the self check-in and scanned the tickets on his phone. Dean curled his arms around Cas’ waist and rested his head on his shoulder, sighing heavily.

            “It’s not even early,” Cas said but a smile tugged at his lips as he tapped through the screens.

            “Wait.” Dean hit the back button. “Upgrade us to first class.”

            “It’s like three hundred dollars.”

            “So?”

            “Each.”

            Dean rolled his eyes and untangled them so he could look Cas in the eyes. Or, really, so he could stare at the side of his face as Cas focused all his attention on the screen like he thought it was a timed game.

            “Believe it or not,” Dean said, fiddling with his phone to start a recording, “I have six hundred dollars lying around.”

            Cas glanced his way. “For larger seats and free champagne? At ten in the morning?”

            “Yup.” Dean hit the upgrade button, then moved the screen forward. He cut the recording on his phone and continued to check them in as Cas sighed heavily, but made no move to stop him. When he finished, he turned around and kissed Cas on the lips. “You’ll thank me.”

            “You’re paying.”

            Dean just smiled brighter and pushed Cas towards security. They had brought two duffle bags as carry-ons and nothing else. (Cas insisted checking bags was a waste of money and they were only going to be there for two days anyways so Dean didn’t argue.) As Cas walked ahead of him, Dean started to record on Snapchat again, catching Cas’ clipped pace in the video. “We’re two hours early for our flight,” he whispered into the microphone.

            He caught up to him at security and they flew through the priority check-in. He tried to take a picture of Cas pulling things out of his bag after it got flagged by the scanner but was told to put it away by a none-too-friendly guard. Dean flashed his best rock star smile and apologized. Cas shouldered his bag and approached him.

            “Now what?” Dean said. “Flight doesn’t leave for... ninety minutes.”

            “I like to be prepared.”

            “You like waiting in line at security.” Dean clicked his tongue. “That’s just not necessary when you’re with me.”

            Cas shook his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

            “I know.” Dean slung his arm around Cas’ shoulders and started towards their gate. They slumped into two empty seats, settling their bags between their feet, and Dean said, “Let’s take a picture.”

            “At the airport?”

            “Unless you wanna leave to take it somewhere else.”

            Cas gave him an odd look and never before had Dean been so grateful for Cas’ ability to respect when he did and did not want to talk. He knew he was acting weird. The forced cheerfulness felt like a shield. When Cas sighed and shifted closer, Dean framed them both in the camera and smiled bright. Cas laughed a little and Dean snapped the picture, adding it to his story of airport woes.

            “Are you Snapchatting?” Cas said.

            Dean opened his mouth to reply but Cas already had his own phone out and was going through the story. He shook his head, smiling, as he watched. “I can’t believe you’ve just been making fun of me since we left the car. It’s not funny.”

            “You’re laughing.”

            “I’m not—”

            Dean kissed him to shut him up, to feel the pull of his smile against his lips. He broke the kiss quickly though and ducked his head into Cas’ shoulder, suddenly tired of the whole act. His heart felt full but like it belonged at the back of his chest, hidden behind everything else. Cas rested his hand on the back of his neck.

            “I know you prefer avoidance,” Cas whispered, “but I just want you to know I’m here if you need to talk about any of it. And I genuinely believe it’s going to go so much better than whatever you’re picturing in your head.”

            “Thank you,” Dean murmured even though he didn’t believe him. He wished he did. He wished he trusted that Cas was right, that Lisa couldn’t possibly be luring him to her house under false pretenses in order to arrest him for the untimely death of her son. Not that he’d done anything that would result in charges, but she could twist it. She’d been so mad the last time he’d seen her. She’d wanted him to have died instead. And he would have, if he could have. He’d have traded places in an instant.

            For a while, they just sat like that. Cas pulled out his e-reader and started a mystery novel that Dean half-read while dozing against his shoulder. When Dean noticed a small group of girls two rows over who were giggling and glancing their way, it was only twenty minutes until their flight boarded. He watched them for a moment, then nudged Cas and sat up straight. “Fans incoming.”

            Cas glanced their way then looked back at his book. “Is that better or worse than paparazzi?”

            “Depends.” Dean watched as the girls approached in a giggling group. He smiled through the travel fatigue. The airport, in all its plastic chair and stale air glory, had the odd effect of making it feel like two a.m. in the middle of the day. He braced himself for the squeals, stretched his fingers to get ready for the autographs, and hoped against hope that the girls might be quiet enough to not attract others.

            They stopped a seat or two away, close enough for conversation but far enough away to show they respected boundaries. “Hey girls,” Dean said, putting on his friendly face. He felt his nerves thrumming through his blood and reached for Cas’ hand. Cas squeezed tight.

            “Sorry to bother you,” one girl said, a brunette with big black glasses. She took a tentative step forward. “But we just, well... we’re such big fans, Mr. Novak.”

            Dean blinked. Then he looked at Cas who had raised his head from his book in pure confusion. He looked back at Dean and Dean thought his expression must be a mirror of his own – blank surprise, a hint of amusement. Then, Cas managed a smile and turned towards the girls.

            “Thanks,” he said, his voice a little shaky but perfectly tuned. “It’s always great to meet fans.”

            “Would you sign our notebooks?” The girls brandished white notebooks with a school crest on them. “We’re going on a school trip and we never thought we’d see you here and we don’t have DVDs or—”

            “Of course.” Cas smiled and glanced at Dean. “Do you have a pen, babe?”

            Dean nodded and started to rummage through his stuff for a sharpie as the girls approached. When he handed it to Cas, he took it smoothly and signed the bottom of three notebooks with a flourish. He asked the girls their names and smiled through their rambling, his face bright and only a little red with embarrassment. Dean rested his hand on Cas’ knee, half for support and half to make the line clear – only he could touch.

            Eventually, the girls backed away with scattered ramblings of thanks and then, right before turning around, the smallest one said, “I loved you in _Broadway Boys_ ,” and skipped away.

            Dean burst out laughing as Cas stared after her with a shocked expression. Slowly, he turned to Dean. “Did you orchestrate that?”

            “I did not.” Dean held up a hand to pause Cas while he tried to get his laughter under control. Shaking his head and holding in giggles, he added, “But if I did, I really couldn’t have done it better. Wow. I thought I was the only person who watched that movie.”

            “I’d like to keep it that way.” Cas was already on his phone. It buzzed a moment later. “Shit. Charlie says it’s on Netflix. Oh, worse, there’s a whole Netflix category for my old movies.” He licked his lips and looked up at Dean. “Is this what it’s like to be you?”

            Dean shrugged. “More or less.”

            “Hope you’re not offended they only recognized me.”

            “I’m sure they recognized me,” Dean hedged, “but after seeing you in that blue speedo--”

            “Never. The fuck. Again.”

            Dean kissed him hard, right up until they were called to board the plane. And even then, he didn’t let go of him, couldn’t, as they got closer and closer to Kansas and Lisa and the perfect life he’d let crumble to dust.

 

The plane landed in the late afternoon. By the time they got off it, hailed a cab, settled into the hotel, and got food, it was firmly evening. Dean stared at his phone blankly, knowing he had to text Lisa and tell her he was there but also wanting to do basically anything else. Cas had sprawled out on the king-sized bed, his shoes off and sweatpants on. He kept up a near-constant commentary on the tabloid reports from their day. Apparently, at the airport, they had finally acted like a couple in love instead of two people who desperately needed to fuck.

            “I wonder why,” Dean muttered as he continued to stare at the blank text conversation.

            He sat down on the end of the bed and felt Cas shift closer. Cas kissed the side of his face, then rested his chin on Dean’s shoulder. “You can do it in the morning,” he said. “It’s been a long day.”

            “And if I do it first thing in the morning, how the fuck will I get through the rest of the day?” Dean wrote out a few words and hit send. Then he stared at the screen until the typing bubbles began, tapping it twice to stop it from going to sleep, and waited for Lisa’s reply to come through.

            _Come over._

            Dean swallowed hard.

            “Dean—”

            “I’ll be back.” Dean got to his feet, practically shoving Cas off of him, and grabbed his jacket from the closet. He slipped into his boots and left the room without giving Cas another glance. His heart had made its way into his throat and if he’d so much as scene the edge of Cas’ face, he knew he would have broken down. He would have splattered his whole heart over the hotel room without a thought.

            He shook all the way down to the lobby. He took a cab most of the way there but made the driver stop before he reached Lisa’s address. In the cool night air, Dean’s leather jacket was little comfort but he still walked slowly towards the house. She’d moved. Dean didn’t know when, just that she had given him a different address when he’d asked to see her. But as he approached the house, it struck him as barely different from the old one. It was a pale blue instead of white. The fence was black metal instead of white wood and the house had only one story instead of two.

            Dean hesitated on the sidewalk in front of the house. The path up to the door was straight concrete, leading right up to the two concrete steps, and the small white door. He felt it all shrink in his perspective like a life he could have led. If he stepped forward, time would warp, he never would have left, and Ben would be alive. He could barely inch his foot forward.

            The door swung open. Lisa stood framed in the entranceway wearing a tight blue tank top and black yoga pants. Her black hair had been chopped off into a neat pixie cut and, even from so far away, Dean could see lines creasing her face, a sign that she had aged well beyond her years. His heart, which he had thought was already in pieces, shattered.

            “Are you going to stand there all night?” Lisa called, her voice soft and sweet.

            Dean shook his head and approached. He was no longer frozen – something about her had broken the spell. Maybe it was knowing that there was no time machine in the yard, no real way to fix this. She stepped out of the doorway to let him in, then shut the door. A warm glow from the overhead lights filled the hall.

            “Do you want a drink?” she said.

            Dean almost said yes. “No.”

            She nodded and led him into the living room. It was a small space just off the kitchen, only big enough for a leather couch and a TV. The couch smelled like new leather even though it showed signs of wear. Dean plopped down onto one side of it and Lisa the other. They both turned towards the middle, too far away to touch but focused on each other.

            Dean met her dark eyes and lost his voice. A new house, a new her, and he still felt the ghost of Ben everywhere. As far as he’d seen, there were no pictures of him and no furniture left over from the old place. Everything was a few years old at most, broken in or untouched. Even with just one floor, the place seemed too big for Lisa alone.

            She cleared her throat. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

            “Left him at the hotel,” Dean said. He licked his lips. “Didn’t think... well, this is about us. Not him.”

            “But you brought him all the way to Kansas.”

            Dean dipped his eyes.

            “You really love him, don’t you?”

            “I...” Dean swallowed the lies and excuses on his tongue. He looked up and met Lisa’s steady gaze. “Yeah. I do.”

            A small smile graced Lisa’s lips. “And here I was hoping it was all for the cameras.” She laughed a little and shifted an inch or so closer. Dean wanted to reach out, place his hand on her knee, hold her like all the other times he had and all the times he hadn’t. “But I’m glad it’s not,” she said.

            “Afraid this was some twisted play to get you back?” Dean said.

            “It crossed my mind. But in the end, I figured I knew you better than that.”

            “Look, Lisa, before...” He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

            Lisa reached across the space and took his hand in hers. She squeezed his fingers tight, her eyes flickering to their hands. Her fingers felt warm, smooth, and small cupped in his. Dean had forgotten how soft she was, how strong under that waifish appearance. He wondered if she could still out-lift him at the gym or if that skill had faded over the years.

            “I don’t blame you,” Lisa said, soft. She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I did. And I’m sorry for that. I... I lost it when... well, when. And I took it out on you and then I lost you too.” She shook so Dean put his other hand over hers, shifting closer. “It was all so stupid.”

            “No.” Dean raised her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “You lost a child. You could act... however you wanted.”

            She finally met his gaze, tears prickling in her eyes. He brushed away one that escaped down her cheek, letting his fingers linger against her skin. His heart beat heavily in his chest, reminding him how close they were, telling him how easy it would be to go back to this.

            “You lost a child too,” she whispered.

            To go back to this broken shell of a home, to a place that felt dark even with all the lights on, to live in a constant reminder of who they’d lost without any memories of him around. Dean swallowed hard, forced the thinnest of smiles, and kissed her knuckles again. “We both need to move on,” but he said it more for her because, as he thought of his airy house and Cas waiting in the hotel room, he realized he already had.

            She nodded and shifted back, wiping the tears from her eyes. “So, what’s this song you want to play for me?”

            “It’s...” Dean trailed off and cursed. “I forgot my guitar.”

            “I have one.” She got up and Dean waited. He took off his jacket and pulled the curtain up just an inch to see the streetlights outside. The neighbourhood was quiet but warm lights showed in the other houses’ windows, bathing the street in an orange glow.

            Lisa came back with a beat up old guitar and a forced smile. Dean took it from her while swallowing every memory that burst into his mind. His hands still shook. His voice still congealed in his throat as he rested the guitar he’d given to Ben, all those years ago, across his lap. He played with the strings for a moment, focused on tuning the sound and not crying at the same time. The guitar was a touch small – Dean had learned on it as a kid, passed it on to Sam, and then on to Ben. His fingers fumbled over the chords for a few moments before he got used to the size of the frets.

            He looked up at Lisa. “Ready?”

            She nodded.

            Dean played the song as he’d finished it, even though he still thought the bridge needed a new sound and the chorus had some lyrics to tweak. He focused on his fingers instead of Lisa as he sang so softly he was half afraid she couldn’t hear him. The room felt warm and sticky. Dean’s hand slipped against the strings, messing up the final notes, but he recovered enough to end it.

            When he looked up, Lisa was crying.

            “I’m sorry,” Dean said immediately. He put the guitar down. “I don’t have to—”

            “No.” She placed her hand over his mouth. “It’s perfect.”

            Dean waited as her fingers slipped off his lips. “Really?”

            She nodded. “You have my permission. Or my blessing. Or whatever it was you were looking for.” She swallowed hard and forced a smile. “Please record it. I’d... I’d like to hear it again.”

            Dean nodded but couldn’t think of a single word to say. _Thank you_ seemed so inadequate but everything else felt inappropriate or reaching. So, instead of saying anything, he reached forward and pulled her into a hug. She still felt strong and Dean let out a sigh of relief he hadn’t known he was waiting for as he held her tight.

            When she shifted, he let go of her and accepted the decaf coffee she offered. They chatted for a little longer about their lives. She asked questions about what she’d seen in the tabloids and Dean managed enough honesty to make her laugh. Dean asked after her life and she admitted to having a yoga studio and a steady boyfriend and a strong group of friends to lean on. Dean said, “But maybe you should ditch this house.”

            Lisa nodded. “I’m looking at a high-rise condo downtown. It’s different but it’s... better.”

            Dean agreed. They finished their coffee and he made his exit, but not before Lisa pressed the guitar into his hands and asked him to keep it. He didn’t want to – he felt like it stung – but he took it all the same. Once again, he walked several blocks before calling a cab.

            He arrived back at the hotel late enough that he had to ring the bell for someone to unlock the doors. He apologized to the tired looking front desk guy, who only smiled and muttered some line about it being his job. Dean tipped him anyways before heading upstairs, walking down the hall, and slipping into the hotel room.

            Darkness engulfed him. He stood by the door until his eyes adjusted, then started to strip down to his boxers. He approached the bed, lifted the sheets, and slid under. Cas shifted and Dean moved closer, curling one arm around his torso and then resting most of his weight on top of Cas’ chest.

            Cas grunted. “Dean...”

            “Shh.” Dean pressed a kiss to his shoulder and huddled closer. Their legs tangled. He matched his breathing to the steady rise and fall of Cas’ chest under him, placed his palm over Cas’ heart to feel it beat. He closed his eyes as lips brushed against his forehead.

            “Are you okay?”

            “I am now.”


	40. Chapter 40

Cas waited until noon to wake Dean. And even then, he couldn’t bring himself to do much more than sit on the bed and start to rub Dean’s shoulders. Dean mumbled out some reaction and Cas tried to quell the rising worry in his throat. He knew Dean had been awake for hours, had maybe not even slept. Throughout the night, Dean had gotten up three times and, even though his eyes had been open when Cas left for breakfast, he’d refused to come along.

            “You need to leave this bed eventually,” Cas whispered.

            “Says who?”

            “The hotel staff, probably.” He kissed Dean’s shoulder. “But also me.”

            With a groan, Dean rolled onto his back. Cas brushed his fingers across the stubble on Dean’s chin, tried to avoid staring at the dark circles under his eyes and his blotchy skin. His eyes still looked teary. “Why’d we even book our flight for tomorrow? Why not just fly back first thing this morning?”

            “Do you want to explain to the press why you flew all the way to Kansas for less than a day?”

            Dean stared at him, blank. “So you thought we’d hang around and pretend we came so I could show you my hometown?”

            Cas shrugged, smiling.

            “You get that idea from Sam?”

            “You think I called your brother to ask how to best disguise flying across the county to see your ex-girlfriend? And that he didn’t stop us?”

            Dean sighed and closed his eyes.

            Cas swallowed the slight. He had no idea what the right balance of concerned and friendly was here, what would get Dean to respond to him in a normal manner. “I’m sorry,” he said, each word inching forward, testing the waters. “I know last night must have been—”

            “I don’t want to talk about it.” Dean swung out of bed and headed over to his suitcase.

            As he got dressed, Cas’ phone buzzed. He looked down to see a text from Jack and it took everything in him not to burst into tears. Last night, he’d called his kids and, after much cajoling, told them why he sounded so worried, so scared. And here was Jack, hours later, waking up and asking, _is Dean okay? is there anything I can do for you?_ Cas simply texted back, _no, I love you_ before putting his phone away.

            He turned to see Dean watching him. “What?”

            Dean shrugged. “You ready?”

            Cas nodded and then had to scramble to follow Dean out the door. They headed out of the lobby and onto the street but, to Cas’ surprise, Dean didn’t hail a cab or ask for a car at the front desk. He just turned down the street, his hands in his pockets and his head bowed against the wind. Cas kept pace with him in silence, listening to the sounds of the quiet city coming to life around him. They walked for a good ten minutes, leaving the hotels and office buildings behind, walking further into a less well-maintained part of downtown.

            “Dean,” Cas said when he heard a rustling in a nearby dumpster. “Where are we going?”

            “My house.”

            Cas shot him a look out of the corner of his eye but Dean was still staring at the ground. “We’re not in a residential area,” he said.

            “I know.”

            Cas got the hint – it was a no-talking kind of morning – and shut his mouth. Part of him still wanted to reach out, to tangle his fingers in Dean’s, but he felt like it might also be a no-touching kind of morning. His heart ached even as he told himself he had no right to Dean’s pain, no reason to feel it on his behalf. But he felt like the more Dean swallowed his feelings, the more Cas felt those feelings battling to get out of his own throat.

            They turned down a long row of brick apartment buildings and, after a few minutes of walking, came upon a lone townhouse. It was wedged between two seven story buildings, looking dwarfed, squished, and thoroughly out of place. The yellow stucco was falling off and the garden had overgrown with weeds and wildflowers. Dean placed one foot gingerly on the front step, testing it before he put his full weight on it. He looked back at Cas. “You coming?”

            Cas made his way through the tall grass, which had yellowed and died, and onto the front porch. He headed through the open door after Dean and was hit with a smell like an old attic that hadn’t been opened in years. The house smelled damp and dusty. Dean’s footprints made a path through the dust on the floor but where he might be going, Cas couldn’t tell.

            The place was empty except for the cardboard boxes that sat all across the floor. They had no labels and seemed deflated, broken at the edges, and ripped in places. Cas followed Dean further into the house and found him in the kitchen, where more boxes sat on the laminated countertops and the cupboards lay open, bare.

            “Your house?” Cas prompted.

            “I grew up here.”

            “Were there apartment buildings then?”

            Dean nodded. “My dad refused to sell to the developer. Said he’d bought the place to make a family with the love of his life and he wasn’t budging.” A smile crept over his lips. “The developer thought that, after mom died, dad might be willing to give the place up. Boy, was that a mistake.”

            Cas smiled a little too and leaned up against the counter. “And you’ve kept it? All this time?”

            “It didn’t feel right to sell it, at first,” Dean said, “and then, I forgot about it for a while. When I was with Lisa, I thought... maybe we could build our lives here too and after... well, selling it felt like giving up.”

            “Giving up on what?”

            “On some stupid, happy, white-picket-fence dream.” Dean laughed but the sound was raw and forced from his throat. “Dumb, right?”

            Cas shook his head but couldn’t think of the words to make it better. He reached across the counter and touched one finger to the back of Dean’s hand, asking permission. Surprisingly, Dean wrapped his hand around Cas’ tightly and brought his knuckles to his lips. He kissed them once, then just held them there, cradling Cas’ hand close like it was something he could lose.

            “How’d it go with Lisa?”

            “She said I could record the song.” He dropped Cas’ hand and turned away.

            “That’s good.”

            “I was worried about her. About her life now. But she seems to be doing okay after... everything. She even told me she doesn’t blame me.”

            “That must be a relief.”

            Dean nodded but, even from behind, Cas could tell the motion shook. He stepped around the counter and put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” Dean whispered as he started to shake more furiously. Cas stepped around him, wiped the tears off his cheeks, and then pulled him into a tight hug.

            How long they stood like that, Dean shaking and Cas holding him upright, Cas couldn’t tell. He knew that by the time Dean shifted away, his arms felt like falling off. He knew that Dean’s sobs had dried up a long time ago, leaving only his shaking and a choked sound. He knew that his chest had started to get too hot, too sweaty, and he’d suffered through the discomfort for a long time.

            “You wanna see my old bedroom?”

            Cas looked around. “Is it just more boxes?”

            “Well, yeah.” Dean forced a smile. “But we could open some of them.”

            Cas followed him upstairs, down a narrow hall, and into a small room that looked barely big enough for a twin bed and a desk. Five boxes sat on the floor, messily labelled in scratchy print. “Your writing?”

            “Sam’s.”

            “I thought your dad passed when he was older.”

            Dean nodded as he settled down on the floor and pulled a box towards him. “He should have been a doctor with writing that bad. But instead, he got a tutor, went to law school, and fakes perfect penmanship.”

            Cas laughed as he joined Dean on the rough carpet. It felt stale to the touch, stuck together, like no one had bothered to clean it for a very long time. Dean opened the box in front of them, sighed, and then tilted it towards Cas. “Welcome to my yearbook collection.”

            Cas’ eyes widened. Over twenty yearbooks were stuffed into the box, ranging in dates from 1976 to 2000. “Dean... some of these are from before you were born.”

            “Yeah, well, they don’t give you a yearbook when you get kicked out after three months.” Dean started to pull yearbooks from the box, picking specific ones and glancing over others. “So I had to steal some from the library archives, to preserve the memories.”

            “You ever think you might not have gotten kicked out if you, I don’t know... _didn’t_ steal the yearbooks?”

            Dean shot him a wide, mischievous grin and, for a moment, Cas could almost imagine what he’d been like as a teenager: crazy and rebellious, with a flair for the dramatic – not much different than he was now – but with a slimmer frame and a brighter smile and not as many circles under his eyes. He’d be happier, maybe, less disappointed with the world and more righteously angry at it.

            “What if I’d met you then?” Cas said, thinking aloud.

            Dean flipped a yearbook open. “Well, first, you’d have to be attracted to _that_.”

            Cas laughed as he looked at the picture. Dean was thin as a bean pole with his hair all spiked up and large eyes that didn’t quite fit his face yet. His look was the same – leather jacket, plaid shirt underneath – but he wore it without the confidence he had now. Pressing his hand to his mouth, Cas tried to stop smiling but found he couldn’t.

            “You wouldn’t have even looked at me,” Dean concluded.

            “Not because of your looks,” Cas said. He met Dean’s eyes as his hand fell but couldn’t stop smiling. “You forget, I was the perfect son. Straight As, honour roll, student council treasurer—”

            “Not president?”

            “You have to be a football player to be president. And even though I tried out, I was always second string.”

            “So not so perfect.”

            “Too perfect to notice you and not run the other way.”

            Dean hummed. “Lucky me that you got knocked down a peg.” He leaned over and kissed Cas, sweet and soft and simple, and Cas could feel his heart falling. He pulled out of the kiss, perhaps a touch too fast, and looked away, pretending to examine the yearbook covers. After a beat of awkward silence, Dean said, “Let’s get out of here.”

            “Already?”

            Dean got to his feet. “It’s just a bunch of dusty old boxes. I’ll show you some of my old haunts.”

            “We don’t have to actually do this,” Cas said as he stood. “It’s just an excuse.”

            Dean stared at him for a second. Cas stared back. Then, Dean shrugged, “By all means, don’t come.”

            Cas bit back a sigh. “That’s not what I...” but he stopped talking when he realized Dean was already out the door. He walked after him, not rushing, and caught up to him as he stopped on the front porch to lock the door after them. “Show me,” Cas said, “please.”

            “Don’t want to keep you from your busy schedule.”

            Cas’ phone chimed as if to prove Dean’s point. Not knowing what else to do, Cas reached for it and saw dozens of notifications from Charlie. “I’m sorry,” Cas said. He chewed on his bottom lip. “Charlie’s getting part offers and she wants me to answer them by Monday but I don’t have the scripts.”

            “Then go home.”

            “Dean—” Cas almost bit his lip open. He watched Dean stalk away from him, through the weed-infested front yard, and tried to quell the anger in his heart. Almost all of him would do anything to make this better, this stupid fight, whatever the hell it was they were fighting about. But a small part of him, that piece of his brain that kept him sane, didn’t know how to do that without completely surrendering his heart to Dean.

            An incoming call from Charlie jolted his phone. He sat down on the porch steps and answered.

 

An hour later, Cas followed the Twitter alerts on his phone to find Dean at a local pub three blocks away. The place had a distinctly Western feel, what with its wood walls and saloon doors, but it also had the bright lights of a fifties-style diner complete with plush seating alongside the rickety wooden chairs.

            Cas walked past the small crowd outside, not expecting much, and flinched when they started to scream. He gave in to the autograph requests, to the pictures, and it took him twenty minutes to get inside. An older woman looked up at him from behind the bar and said, “Took you long enough. He’s sulking in the corner.”

            Cas glanced over to see Dean nursing a milkshake and picking at half a slice of pie. He steeled himself, then walked over just as Dean started to laugh. A blonde woman sat on the other side of the booth picking at a plate of fries. Something unhealthy churned in Cas’ chest as he approached the table with a nervous smile.

            The woman looked up. “Look who finally showed up.”

            Dean glanced his way, then went back to his pie.

            She reached forward and touched his arm. “Be nice.”

            “Tell him.”

            Sighing, she slipped out of the booth and offered her hand to Cas. He took it and, as they shook, she said, “I’m Jo, your boyfriend’s unofficial therapist and probably the oldest female friend he has who’s still talking to him.”

            Dean flipped her off.

            Cas smiled as his nerves slipped away. “Wow, Jo. It’s nice to meet you. I’m—”

            “Cas. I know.”

            “Would you... I mean, this is stupid, but my daughter would kill me if I didn’t get a picture with you or an autograph—”

            She laughed. “I’m not famous anymore.”

            “I know. And she’d probably kill me for even remembering that she had a crush on you, let alone telling you, but... please?”

            Jo nodded and gestured for him to come closer. Cas wrapped an arm around her and took a picture. He started to send it to Claire, but Jo asked for the phone, and wrote the message herself. As she handed the phone back, she held on to Cas’ hand for a second and stage-whispered, “Be gentle with him. He’s not as tough as he seems.”

            Dean flipped her off again as she left, laughing under her breath.

            Cas slipped into the other side of the booth.

            “Sure you want to be here?” Dean said, stabbing at the pie. “Your fans are outside.”

            Cas glanced out the window, surprised to see that the crowd had grown. He supposed he should have expected it – the two of them together was a bigger attraction than just one of them. “I don’t even know what happened,” he said, looking back at Dean, “so I don’t know if I have to apologize or if I should be mad too or what this is even about. You think you could give me a hint?”

            Dean looked up at him, disbelief written all over his expression. “That’s how you’re going to play this?”

            Cas swallowed hard. He swallowed down the part of him that would say anything to change the way Dean was looking at him and let the logic take over. “Play what?” he said, forcing everything he had into looking at Dean like a friend. Like his friend with benefits. Like there was nothing else between them. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

            For a long time, Dean just stared at him. Then, he twisted his fork in his pie, looked away, and shrugged. With a full mouth, he said, “Nothing, man. Yesterday was weird, this morning was weirder, and... I guess I misread some things.”

            Cas felt the knife go into his heart. He forced his expression to stay blank. “But we’re good now?”

            “Fine.”

            Cas forced himself to look away, not to watch Dean for too long. He let himself settle into the booth and pulled out his phone to answer the next half dozen texts Charlie had sent him. He read through several offers she’d emailed to him and skimmed summaries of scripts he had little to no interest in. But the studios wanted him, the studios scrambled over each other to get to him. That, at the very least, felt good.

            Then the tabloid apps started to throw notifications his way. He opened a few of them to see pictures of him sitting where he was now with Dean across from him. Most were blurry cell phone photos shot through the grime of the window. And the articles were nothing more than fluffy blurbs and SPOTTED posts – reporters saying how domestic they looked, how nice it was to see a couple who could just sit together in silence. Cas took heart in the fact that at least it didn’t look like the silence was killing him.


	41. Chapter 41

Chuck convinced Dean that a real studio set up with a real producer somewhere downtown was a better bet for the demo than his home studio with Chuck overseeing things. Dean bit down every retort that it wasn’t a real demo, that he wasn’t some nobody, and agreed to the studio time. He swallowed his pride, met with the producer, and nodded along like a nobody who had no clue what he was doing. At least he’d worked with this producer before and they knew each other well enough to stay out of each other’s way.

            Dean half agreed to get Chuck off his back. The other half of his easy agreement had to do with avoiding Cas. Now that they were back at home, Cas only had a few days left of shooting before the film wrapped and he would officially take over the living room again with his mountain of scripts. Dean threw them around with more force than necessary, shrugging when Cas asked him to keep the piles neat, coming up with excuses for moving them on the spot. He knew he was being an asshole. He wanted to stop being an asshole. But he also didn’t.

            What had started as stupid flirting and moved on to sex, meant more to Dean than he wanted to admit. And if he couldn’t hurt Cas, he didn’t know how else to stop his heart from skipping beats every time Cas touched him. His head felt screwed on backwards and every time he tried to get the feeling down on paper, he felt more lost than before.

            When he did see Cas, he either ignored him or fucked him. If Cas got tired of getting pressed up against walls whenever he wanted to talk, he didn’t let on. Dean slammed him against drywall fast and hard. He kissed him with vigour, anger, and bitterness. Location wasn’t a problem – if Cas wanted to talk in the living room, Dean sank to the floor and put his head between his thighs; if Cas wanted to speak over morning coffee, Dean would put ass prints all over the countertops; if Cas tried to get to the bottom of things in the bedroom, well, he only really did that knowing he’d be fucked hard for it.

            Dean guzzled coffee as Chuck led him into the studio for the third time that week. Chuck thought they must have had the song down by now but the producer agreed with Dean – the chorus’ lyrics were weak in places and the bridge needed a different sound to it. The band had agreed to play around for a few hours today, to see what they could bring to the table that Dean couldn’t, and Dean had agreed just to leave the house before Cas woke up. Sometimes the worst part of fucking him was waking up with him in the morning, seeing him sleeping softly or opening his eyes to see Cas already looking at him.

            Dean knew Cas was lying. He knew. It didn’t make it hurt any less.

            Once at the studio, Dean let the band run through the song a couple of times on their own before he offered suggestions. And then he stepped into the studio, bringing his vocals and own guitar playing into the mix, playing off the pianos and the bass, trying to bring in the backup vocalists when he needed more oomph. He debated the lyrics with a songwriter the label had brought in – at least that was one show of faith – and they hammered out a new hook for the chorus.

            Halfway through their first try at recording the song, Dean stopped. The band dropped slower and Dean closed his eyes. The speaker crackled overhead. “You all right there, Dean?” Chuck said.

            Dean nodded. “Can we just... any chance we can get male backup singers?” He turned to the girls behind him. “No offence, you sound great, it’s just—”

            “The song needed a lower tone,” the producer agreed. He got up out of his seat and left the room, probably going to wander the hall for stray backup singers.

            Dean thanked the girls as they left the room and looked up at Chuck as he approached. Chuck raised one eyebrow. “It sounds great,” he said. “Phenomenal, even. Ten times better than your first demo for the label.”

            “Thanks.”

            “Why are you nit-picking it?”

            Dean shrugged and looked away. “I don’t want to give them any reason to drop me.”

            “They’re not gonna drop you. Literally all they want to know is that you’re working on new stuff, that they can rely on you to bring them new stuff.” Chuck stepped to the side to catch Dean’s eye again. “So what is it? Are you punishing them by making them pay for extra studio time?”

            “This song’s important to me. I want it to be perfect.”

            Chuck stared at him for a long moment, then narrowed his eyes. “I’ll let that one slide, because it doesn’t sound like total bullshit, but I know there’s something else too. And if you don’t tell me what it is, I can’t fix it.”

            “It’s not the kind of thing you can fix.”

            Before Chuck could respond, probably by saying how he was a manager and his job was to fix things, the producer reappeared with three male singers. Dean shook each of their hands as they entered the studio and they did a few practice rounds to get the timing of the vocals right. Dean dismissed one of the guys twenty minutes in, apologizing as he did so, because his voice was a little too high for the sound. The producer agreed with him, thank god.

            They recorded the song three times with only a few tweaks. Dean left the studio, grabbed a bottle of water, and then slung himself into a chair next to the producer. Both he and Chuck glanced at Dean, confused.

            “You don’t have to be here for this part,” Chuck said.

            “You don’t have to be here for the recording part,” Dean bit back. “Doesn’t mean you’re not.”

            Chuck, occasionally having some social grace, gave up on the argument. Dean did mostly nothing as the producer tweaked with the song; he just nodded or shook his head at every change. A couple hours later, the demo was finished and burned onto a CD. Dean spun it in his hand just to make sure it was real.

            Chuck grabbed it from him. “I’ll send it to the label.”

            “No.” Dean stood. “Let’s give it to them in person. See their reaction first hand.”

            Chuck protested all the way out of the building but finally agreed to set up the meeting once they were on the street. Dean slid into his car, waved goodbye to Chuck, and tried to resist the urge to tell the driver to bring him anywhere but home. He had nowhere else to go in L.A. No family, no friends, no places he could hang out without getting mobbed by over-zealous fans. And the man he was pretending not to have feelings for while also pretending to date was camped out at his house, probably building a fort out of movie scripts.

            Dean had the car stop a few blocks from his house. He pulled out his phone and called Sam’s number – his personal cell, not his business one. As it rang, Dean half panicked that he might have changed the number and not told him. Dean rarely called him anymore if it wasn’t business related and, even then, he usually had Chuck make the call. He chewed the skin off his nail as the phone rang and started to walk slower.

            “Hey,” Sam said and Dean waited, hoping it wasn’t voicemail. “Dean? Are you there?”

            Leave it to Sam to answer like it was the most normal thing in the world when Dean was pretty sure he hadn’t called him for over a year and a half. “Hey, Sammy,” he managed. He spit the dead skin out of his mouth. “Nice to hear from you.”

            “You too.”

            Dean didn’t know what to say, wasn’t even sure why he’d called Sam, certainly not on his personal number. He bit out a sigh. “Any news on the tabloid front?”

            “Not for a few days.”

            “Good, good.” Dean looked up to see his house in the distance, the sun glinting off the windows. He slowed his pace even further. Seeing his family home had made him realize how far he’d gone to change his life, how many little things he’d twisted to get away from becoming his father. He swallowed hard and asked what he’d actually been meaning to ask. “Hey, Sam, how much longer do you think this thing with Cas is gonna go on?”

            Sam made a non-committal, distracted noise. “A while. The initial plan was to cement your careers going forward and, even if you sign a contract this week, Cas’ movie won’t premiere for another six months.”

            “So? He already got the role.”

            “The role isn’t the issue. It’s how well the movie does. If you break up now and the film flops, then he did you a favour and you did nothing in return.”

            “I made him a fucking star,” Dean snapped. He approached his lawn and was almost disappointed to find no photographers waiting. He paused, as if they might jump out from the bushes to surprise him. “He gets more attention than me  now.”

            “Is that what this is about? Are you angry he’s becoming more popular than you?”

            Dean opened his mouth to respond but found he didn’t have the words. Instead, he sighed. “No,” he said. He started towards his front door but didn’t elaborate.

            “Are you okay, Dean? Is there a problem with Cas?”

            “Define problem.”

            “You’re uncomfortable with him?”

            Dean pulled out his keys and jiggled one into the lock. He considered Sam’s question, the wording of it. He pushed the door open. “No, I’m not.” As he stepped into the living room, he caught sight of the piles upon piles of stapled scripts but no sign of Cas. “Everything’s fine. I’m just... tired.”

            “Are you still coming to Thanksgiving?”

            “We’ll see.” Dean hung up before Sam could push him. He had skipped last year’s traditional Thanksgiving due to a massive hangover that had quickly turned into yet another drunken night. He hadn’t even known he’d missed his flight until Sam had called on Friday to ask if he was alive.

            Dean wandered through the living room and into the kitchen. Still no Cas. He considered calling out for him, then decided against it. If Cas was nowhere to be found, Dean would appreciate his time alone. He headed back into his studio and tuned one of his favourite guitars. For a while, he played around with a song he was working on and then he moved on to working on something new. His stomach grumbled.

            He headed back to the kitchen to find Cas there, finally, cooking stir fry. Dean glanced his way but then turned towards the fridge and pulled the door open. Somewhere inside he knew he had takeout leftovers but, as he shifted Tupperware around, he wasn’t sure his memory was as sharp as it used to be.

            “Did you eat my egg rolls?” He slammed the fridge door harder than intended.

            Cas didn’t so much as blink. “I threw them out.”

            “You what?”

            “They were three weeks old, Dean.”

            Dean stared at the side of Cas’ face, illuminated harshly in the kitchen lights. He hated the guy for how good he could look under crappy fluorescents without a hint of makeup on him. He wondered if the movie producers ever considered letting Cas go natural under the cameras’ light so he’d look more like a human person and less like some avenging angel from up on high.

            “You can have some stir fry,” he said, as if that made up for everything.

            Dean shoved him.

            Cas stumbled a bit to the side, luckily letting go of the pan before he slid it off the burner, and raised his hands in a half-hearted surrender. He turned towards Dean with a fierce look in his eyes, something close to anger but more surprised. “What the hell is your problem?”

            “I’ll tell you.” Dean took a step closer, reaching for Cas’ hip.

            Cas stepped out of his range. “No.” He crossed his arm. “You’re not touching me again until you tell me what the fuck is up with you.”

            Dean cocked an eyebrow. “Have you not figured out how this works by now?”

            “I thought we were friends with benefits,” Cas said, “but lately, I’m starting to think you hate me and fuck me as some sort of power trip.” He took another step back even though Dean made no move to approach again. His eyes softened a little and so did his voice. “I just want to know what’s wrong, Dean. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

            Dean did, in fact, think that was too much to ask. He also thought it was ridiculous that Cas could stand there and pretend not to know what was wrong, pretend that he didn’t pull out of that kiss in his childhood bedroom, pretend that he didn’t tell him he didn’t want anything more. But looking at Cas now, with his face all crumpled, standing so far away, Dean had to sigh.

            “I don’t hate you.”

            “That’s a start.”

            “I just...” Dean turned his head as the pan started spitting and picked up the spatula to give the mixture a stir. He stayed facing the stove, feeling Cas’ eyes hot on the back of his neck. “I tried to show you my life in Kansas. And you pushed me away.”

            “It felt too close,” Cas said, “too much like—”

            “I know what it felt like.”

            “So you’re... what? Trying to fuck me into hating you?”

            Dean snorted but held back his chuckle. He felt Cas step closer to him, the heat of him so close as he reached around Dean and picked a carrot out of the pan. The crunch of his teeth was right next to Dean’s ear. “We don’t have to do this, you know,” Cas whispered. He rested his chin on Dean’s shoulder. “Say the word and we’ll take out the benefits package.”

            With a small laugh, Dean shook his head. “I don’t think the dozens of people who spent hours thinking about how to fix our non-sex scandal would appreciate that.”

            “True. But we don’t have to do anything for them.”

            “Is that what you want? To stop?”

            “No. But if it’d be better for you...”

            Dean let the offer hang there, let the implication wrap around them. It was the idea that it was him, more than Cas, that was affected by all of this that made him angry, made his skin crawl. After all, he was known for one night stands and Cas was known for serial monogamy. He knew in his gut, the same way he knew when Sammy was hurt, when his dad was drunk, when Lisa needed space instead of a shoulder to cry on, that Cas felt the same way he did. That maybe he felt more. And because he was better at holding his tongue, he got to act like the damn bigger person about it.

            “I’ll get over it,” Dean said, putting as much force behind the words as possible. He turned down the heat on the burner under the vegetables and checked the rice. “That’s not the real problem.”

            “Then what’s the real problem?”

            Dean didn’t know why he did that, let him change the subject so easily, _believed_ him so easily. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe he just didn’t want to call out his bullshit and risk the conversation screeching to a halt. But Dean couldn’t read him without looking at him and he couldn’t look at Cas without letting on that he was lying.

            “The press is gone.”

            “Off the front lawn?” Cas moved to get plates from the cupboard. “Aren’t you used to that? Isn’t there usually a lull between the end of a tour and the next album release?”

            “Not when you’re a walking scandal.”

            “Guess I made an honest man of you.”

            Dean flicked a pepper at him to wipe the smirk off his face. It didn’t work; his eyes just crinkled more, his smile spreading like an infection.

            “No one pays me any attention anymore. They’re all focused on you.”

            “And you’re jealous?”

            Dean bristled at the word but nodded all the same. He took the rice off the heat and started to spoon it out onto the plates. As he reached for the pan of vegetables, he said, “I’m glad your career is taking off. I am. But you’ve got a living room full of people who want you, who want your work, and I’m recording a demo for my own damn label because they don’t trust I have anything left to give them.”

            “That’s not—”

            Dean waved him off. He dumped vegetables on top of the rice then shoved the plate across the counter. Cas took a seat on the stool, then pulled the other plate in front of the stool beside him. He looked up at Dean with wide, hopeful eyes, like a puppy hoping it wouldn’t get kicked again.

            Dean sat down and picked at his dinner.

            A few minutes later, Cas tried again. “They’re being assbutts. Your new stuff is fantastic and I’m sure they’ll sign you the moment they hear it.”

            Dean turned his head and blinked at Cas. “Assbutts?”

            Cas laughed. “That’s what you got from that?”

            “That’s not a word, Cas. It barely even counts as a curse.”

            “It has ass in it.”

            “That’s what counts as a curse in a good Christian household, huh?”

            Smiling, but trying not to, Cas said, “Fine. What’s a good insult then?”

            Dean made a show of trying to think about it but he already knew what he wanted Cas to say. “Motherfuckers,” he said after a moment. “They’re being motherfuckers.”

            Cas blinked at him.

            Dean elbowed him. “Come on. Say it.”

            “I—”

            Dean leaned in and kissed him deeply. He let his tongue slide between his lips, lengthening the kiss, and let go only when he was sure Cas would lean too far out of his chair and fall over if it went on a second longer. Dean met Cas’ sparkling eyes, smiled at the sight of his struck expression. He was a good kisser; at least that was no longer up for debate.

            “Motherfuckers,” Cas said, a tad breathless. “They’re being motherfuckers.”


	42. Chapter 42

Cas met Charlie for coffee at the Starbucks down the street. It had taken some finagling to convince her not to just drop by the house first thing in the morning but Cas had spun some bullshit about early scenery shots and being closer to the coffee shop than home anyways. Tricking Charlie had always been a practice in failure, but at least she had agreed.

            Cas walked through the door to find her already sitting at a table by the window with two cups of coffee and three muffins. Smiling, he slung himself into the seat across from her and said, “You don’t have to buy me coffee.”

            “I wanted to.” Charlie pushed a cup towards him. “You’re making me a lot of money. I might as well give some of it back to you.”

            Cas chuckled and sipped at the warm, caramel concoction. A sound came out of his throat that wasn’t altogether appropriate and Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Sorry,” Cas said. “Dean has a weird obsession with black coffee.”

            “You don’t have to live by his rules just because you’re under his roof.”

            Ignoring the implication, Cas took another big gulp of his coffee and reached for a muffin. He started to peel off the paper with the utmost care. “What brings you all the way out here?” he asked. “Last I heard, you were out in Texas courting new talent.”

            “You got an offer.”

            “I’ve got several offers. You emailed them.”

            Charlie shook her head, a bright smile taking over her face. The look was infectious and Cas found himself smiling back, even as she basked in her own silent joy.

            “You gonna let me in on the secret?”

            She nodded and reached into her bag. With a flourish, she produced a thin sheath of papers and placed it on the table between them. Cas reached for it. The script was no longer than forty pages, much too short to be a movie, and the title page proclaimed: _Tattletale Tricks: The Pilot._

Cas raised an eyebrow. “We’re a little early for pilot season.”

            “It’s going to be a summer season.” Charlie flipped open the front page and pressed down on the crease to keep the page open. She tapped on the character description she’d highlighted in yellow. “They want you to play Mason Haverford, son of a wealthy entrepreneur, compulsive liar. He’ll turn on anyone to get ahead.”

            “That’s not me.”

            “It’s a _character_.”

            “I can’t play _characters_.”

            “The studio believes in you. And so do I.”

            Cas stared back at her as he shifted back in his chair. Her fingers gripped white against the edges of the script and, every second or so, she pushed it half an inch closer to him. He rubbed a hand over his lips. “I don’t do TV. I’ve never done TV.”

            “TV is every actor’s dream. A steady paycheque. Guaranteed income. You haven’t even seen what they’re offering and they’re gonna wave the audition if you like the role.” Charlie swallowed hard and pulled back her hands. “Read it. Think about it. This is big.”

            Cas flipped back to the title page, his eyes grazing over the names of the writers at the bottom of the script. He recognized a few of them. Then he flipped back to the character page and skimmed the profiles of the other leads, as well as a few of the re-occurring regulars. As he read, he licked his lips.

            “Charlie,” he said, slowly, not wanting to believe it if it wasn’t true. His heart beat heavily in his chest. “Is this...”

            “Yes.”

            “But it’s—”

            “The movie funding fell through. Showtime wants to pick it up as a series instead.” Charlie grabbed his hand and squeezed. “This is a huge opportunity. _Tattletale Heart_ sold out at bookstores last month in a matter of days. They couldn’t _print_ it fast enough. It’s the only adult book in the recent history of publication to have YA-level sales. This part is a license to print money, Cas. You cannot turn it down without reading the damn script first.”

            Cas nodded, only about half her words making it through the cacophony of blood rushing through his ears. Either his heart had stopped beating or sped up so fast he couldn’t hear it anymore. The world seemed to buzz and scream and click and flash around him. Then he realized at least half of that was the photographer at the window. He blinked and removed his hand from Charlie’s.

            She glanced to the side, sighed, and pulled the curtain on the window. It fell with a satisfying screech. “So? Can I tell them yes?”

            Cas laughed. “I haven’t even read the script yet. I don’t know if I can do Mason Haverford justice, or if I would be better off playing someone else.”

            “You have to play Mason. He’s the main character. Please, Cas.”

            Sighing, he said, “It’s not just about that.”

            She frowned and took a long sip of her coffee before breaking off a piece of a chocolate muffin and popping it in her mouth. Cas bit into his own muffin as she thought and tried to identify the song playing over the tinny speakers. It didn’t seem to be pop music but a strange mix of elevator music and EDM. He wondered if maybe they were promoting an album up at the counter that he had missed.

            “Nope,” Charlie said finally.

            Cas looked back at her.

            “I can’t think of a single damn reason you would want to turn this down other than your misguided belief that you can only play one character. And I think _Dreaded Darkness_ has proved that you’ve got range. Unless you secretly are a murderous psychopath.”

            Cas smiled thinly.

            “So what is it? Why would you want to pass on this before you’ve read it?”

            “This is big, Charlie. Even just the announcement that I’m going to be playing Mason Haverford will skyrocket me to new levels of fame and...” Cas swallowed hard. He was suddenly very aware he was speaking to Charlie, who knew only bits and pieces of his life now, and not Charlie as she was – his trusted confidant and closest friend.

            “And what?”

            “Dean’s already sour about all the attention I’m getting.” That was the truth, at least. “And I don’t want him getting angry and pulling out of the deal because I’m becoming more famous than him.” And there was the lie, the thing he never would have said to Charlie in the past.

            “Screw him.” And there were the words she would never say if she knew the truth, if Cas had just told her that he didn’t want to hurt Dean, that he couldn’t stand to go back to the way it was just a few days ago, when Dean would barely look at him. “Don’t drag yourself down because he can’t handle it.”

            “Charlie—”

            “No. He entered a business agreement and he will stick it the fuck out. And if he won’t, who cares? Getting announced as Mason Haverford will boost your ticket sales more than Dean Winchester’s stupid face ever will.”

            Cas sighed.

            “Tell me you’ll read this. Tonight.”

            He nodded and took the script. She changed the subject quickly, moving on to asking him about his life and the kids. He hedged around most of the questions, violently aware of all the things he couldn’t tell her and all the things he wanted to. Life would be so much easier if he could just tell Charlie the truth. He had with Kelly. He’d told her the first moment he’d fell for her, the first time they kissed, the day he’d told her he loved her. But now, with Dean, Cas couldn’t tell Charlie any of that or she’d blow the whole thing up. Like he’d asked her to.

            Twenty minutes later, they left the coffee shop to a barrage of cameras. Charlie pushed Cas towards a waiting car and, in response to a couple of reporters calling her his girlfriend, said, “I’m a lesbian, you assholes.” She slid into the seat beside him and dropped him back at Dean’s before going downtown to meet with another client.

            Cas entered the house with ease. No photographers graced the front lawn. It was starting to feel like he really was home and not on some odd reality TV set where the cameras were only outside the house. He settled onto the couch and turned on the TV, just as his phone rang with an incoming call from Jack.

            For a while, he talked his son through his upcoming theology paper with as much grace as he could, gently reminding him that getting detention for arguing the merits of Satanism was not better than getting an A for toeing the party line. Then they moved on to watching _Gossip Girl_ until Kelly yelled at Jack to get off the phone.

            Jack sighed and said, “I wish I could see you.”

            “Yeah, I know.” Cas swallowed hard. He tried to focus on the paused screen where Blair stood on the Met steps, staring down her enemies. “Me too.”

            A long silence followed but the call didn’t disconnect. After a second, Cas heard the murmur of Kelly’s voice again and Jack’s muffled response. Then, Jack said, “I have to go. Lunch. I’ll call you later?”

            “I’d like that.”

            “Mom wants to talk to you. Bye, love you.”

            Before Cas could say another word to him, Kelly’s sigh came over the line. He stayed silent, waiting for her to say whatever it was that she was going to say. Usually, when she took the phone, it was to remind him of the custody agreement or to ask about a late alimony cheque. But as far as Cas knew, he hadn’t violated the custody agreement or missed a cheque lately. He had barely spoken to his kids, much less seen them, since the start of the school year.

            “Claire punched a kid yesterday.”

            Cas held his breath but didn’t comment. Day to day discipline usually didn’t rank in what Kelly thought he needed to know.

            “The guy said something about your so-called boyfriend and she decked him. He wasn’t even talking to her.”

            Cas held back a chuckle but let his smile spread. He tried to put as much concern as possible into his voice. “She knows violence isn’t the answer.”

            “Either way, she’s been suspended. And she’s under house arrest. So if she pulls another stunt like the last one—”

            “I will call you immediately.”

            Kelly huffed out a breath. “I really don’t think Dean’s a good influence on them.”

            “Dean hasn’t been anywhere near them,” Cas snapped, harsher than intended. At that moment, he heard footsteps and turned to see Dean emerging from the back hall. He held up a hand to tell him to wait a second. “Claire’s always been violent when it comes to homophobic assholes. You can’t blame that behaviour on recent developments.”

            “He didn’t say anything homophobic. He said Dean was cheating on you.”

            Cas stayed silent for a long moment and pursed his lips. He felt the couch sink as Dean sat down beside him, half a foot away. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Cas said, “I’ll talk to her. She knows better than to let rumours get to her.”

            “Just talk to her soon,” Kelly said. “I’m taking the kids to my parents’ place in the Hamptons for Thanksgiving so—”

            “No phones. Got it.” Cas managed a goodbye and then hung up. He dropped it against his knee, staring at the lock screen of him, Dean, and Claire for a moment before shutting off his phone with a loud sigh.

            “Not good?” Dean said, glancing at Cas out of the corner of his eye.

            Cas shook his head, still staring at the floor between his feet. His conversation with Charlie swirled in his head, along with everything he’d spoken about with Dean a few days before, and part of him wished he’d just pushed through to the truth of it. Or his truth, anyways. He remembered when they first started, Charlie telling him that Dean would say anything to get into his pants because that was who he was. He no longer believed that but maybe that was part of the act too. Maybe that kiss over the yearbooks had been just a kiss to Dean, just another way to manipulate him into his bed.

            Dean’s hand came down heavily on his shoulder and then gently rubbed circles down the length of his spine. The movement was half-hearted though and, when Cas glanced up, he realized Dean had changed Netflix over to _Orange is the New Black_ and was now scrolling through episodes.

            “I haven’t seen the pilot,” Cas said.

            “Tough shit.” Dean stopped halfway through season three. “I’m on a serious binge.”

            Cas snorted. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

            As he got to his feet, Dean reached up and took hold of his wrist. Cas looked back at him to see Dean’s eyes finally on him, wide and concerned, and he felt his heart try to leap right out of his chest. He swallowed it whole.

            “Are you all right?” he said. “That didn’t sound good.”

            Cas forced a smile. “The holidays are just hard, that’s all.” He pulled out of Dean’s grip and headed for the stairs, grabbing the script on his way. He made his way into Dean’s bed, arranged the pillows the way he liked them, and sat back as he flipped to the first page of the script.

_INT. HAVERFORD MANSION – FOYER – NIGHT_

_MASON HAVERFORD (36), the lavish and conniving son of a billionaire businessman, dressed to the nines, stands under a large chandelier. SOCIALITES hang back from him in a loose semi-circle, drawn to every word he says._


	43. Chapter 43

In Dick Roman’s office, Dean always felt like a down to earth person. He was aware that his house was dramatic and glass, leather and chrome, every rock star cliché he could think of, but at least it paled in comparison to Mr. Roman’s penthouse floor office. The place was massive, too big for him alone, and yet others were only allowed up when he invited them. He had three assistants all to himself and Dean got the distinct impression that at least one of them was just his mistress masquerading as an employee.

            Today, the blonde woman escorted them to Mr. Roman’s private conference room. A long glass table filled the space. Leather rolling chairs surrounded it. Speakers hung on the walls connected to a TV at the front. Dean itched to slip his demo CD right into the drive and blast it until Mr. Roman came running to see what all the commotion was about. But that’s why Chuck got to hold on to the CD.

            Dean settled into the seat he was offered beside Chuck and sipped on the lemon-cucumber water he was brought. He tapped his fingers against the immaculate table, leaving fingerprints. Five minutes passed. He checked his phone and saw a text from Cas wishing him luck at the label. Another five minutes passed. He glanced at Chuck, who shrugged.

            Then the door opened and half a dozen beautiful people in neat black suits flooded into the room. They took their seats in silence as Dean blinked at them. A moment later, Mr. Roman entered and approached Dean, reaching out a hand. Dean shook it, but didn’t get up.

            “Dean Winchester,” he said as if they hadn’t spoken just over a week ago. “What a pleasure to have you back in my offices. I hope you don’t mind, but I asked a few people to sit in and listen today.” He then went around the table, introducing various research & development people, the marketing head, and a few people from acquisitions.

            Dean smiled at all of them, then turned his sour look on Mr. Roman. “Surely you’re aware that I’m not an _acquisition_. And any R &D team worth the money will tell you my reputation sells more records than my music does.”

            He shrugged. “We’ll see.”

            Dean opened his mouth to ask what the hell that meant, but Chuck took over smoothly. He said a few nice words about the song before slipping it into the drive and hitting play. The opening chords came through the speakers soft and sweet. Dean swept his eyes around the room, taking in the neutral expressions of those listening. A few people nodded their heads, others smiled sadly, but most of them had good poker faces.

            As the song came to a close, Dean glanced back at Mr. Roman who had settled with his head back in his chair, eyes closed. The silence dragged on for almost a minute before he opened his eyes and said, “Well. That was certainly... something.”

            “Something?” Dean snapped. Chuck grabbed his arm to stop him from saying anything else.

            “Let’s see what the team thinks.” Mr. Roman gestured to the woman sitting closest to him.

            She cleared her throat. “Well, it’s obviously not a hit single, but it’s an amazing song. The kind of ballad that really rounds out an album and I’m sure a lot of people will relate to the message behind it and the story of losing a loved one.” She glanced at the man next to her to continue.

            Dean started to smirk as the team unanimously agreed it was a great song and would do well in the target demographic. When they finished, Dean looked back at Mr. Roman to see his smile straining and that only made Dean happier. Mr. Roman excused himself to find the contracts and presented them to Dean without any fanfare. He simply slipped the sheath of papers across the table and said, “Congratulations. You’re officially back.”

            Dean looked down at the papers, took a deep breath, and said, “Thanks, but if you don’t mind, I’m going to have my lawyer look over these before I sign.” He stood and offered his hand to Mr. Roman again. As they shook, fingers biting into each other’s skin, he said, “It’s such a pleasure to be working with you again.”

            Dean headed for the door, confident that Chuck would follow with the contract. They made their way back to the elevator without a word but as soon as the doors closed, Chuck said, “That... was great.”

            Dean smiled. “I thought you’d have a problem with it.”

            “For all I care, you can dropkick Dick off the top of this damn building now. We’ve got the contract after all.” He laughed and Dean joined in.

 

Dean sat at home watching TV mindlessly, too worked up and too tired all at once to even attempt to work on one of his new songs. His phone buzzed against his thigh and he glanced down to see Sam’s name. He swiped the text open.

            **Sam:** _you still planning on coming out for Thanksgiving?_

Dean stared at the words for a moment. He wanted to say yes. He’d missed Sam ever since he went off to school and started a new path and left him behind. He hadn’t seen Jess in years. And having Bobby, Ellen, and Jo all under one roof was bound to be the family reunion he’d always wanted. But he felt odd knowing that the trip would leave Cas behind in his house.

            **Dean:** _idk I might just hang out with Cas_

**Sam:** _invite him_

**Dean:** _I thought it was family only_

**Sam:** _the press thinks he’s family. so invite him, unless you’ve still got a problem with         him._

Dean smiled, just a touch, and hesitated when it came to replying. In the end, he simply texted back, _okay_ , and went back to watching TV.

            But his life, or public life at least, couldn’t wait forever. In less than an hour, he had texts from both Sam and Chuck telling him to do something to boost his and Cas’ image. The tabloids had more or less forgotten about them in the recent days, an odd thing that left Dean feeling lonely. When the house had been all his, the photographers on the lawn had been Dean’s main source of contact with the outside world. And now that they were gone, that the scandals were gone, that Sam and Chuck weren’t constantly blowing up his phone asking what the fuck he was doing, Dean felt the hole in his life he’d created. He was pretty sure he didn’t have any friends.

            He dutifully opened his photo app and started to flick through the pictures, looking for something Instagram worthy. Footsteps sounded behind him but he ignored them until Cas leaned over the back of the couch and said, “What are you doing?”

            “Looking for something to post.” He flipped to the next picture, which was of the two of them curled up in bed. He’d forgotten he’d taken that and passed it quick but Cas reached forward and flipped back.

            “That’s cute.”

            “We’re naked.”

            Cas laughed and joined him on the couch, sitting close. His thigh pressed into Dean’s and Dean forced himself to relax as he looked over at the other man. Cas’ smile, bright and all-encompassing, caught his eye. “You don’t feel like exposing yourself to the press anymore?”

            “I think Chuck might actually kill me if I willingly gave the tabloids a shot of my cock.”

            “You can’t even see your cock.”

            Dean tilted the screen towards him and ran his finger over a crinkle in the sheets where the outline of his half-hard cock was visible. “How long do you think it’ll take some internet-savvy teenager to find that?”

            Cas laughed and let him move on to the next picture. They argued over a few more images – bad lighting, weird set-up, and a few other excuses Dean felt were bullshit coming from Cas. Especially when he reached a picture of Cas’ profile, his smile fully fledged, and a blush on his cheeks. “This one,” Dean said at the exact moment Cas said, “No.”

            Dean gave him a look. “Why not? The lighting is great and you look amazing. It’s candid, fun...” He trailed off when Cas didn’t look up at him, just kept looking at the phone with a serious expression on his face. Dean jostled his shoulder. “What? Do you not like it?”

            “No, I just...” Cas closed his eyes and then looked up at Dean. “Isn’t this from dinner the other night?”

            “Yeah. So?”

            Cas cleared his throat and looked way. He fiddled with his locked phone. “Nothing, just... I don’t know. That felt like an _us_ thing. Not something we were doing to share with the whole world but because we wanted to.”

            Dean stared at his profile for a moment longer than necessary, letting those words sink into the silence. After a moment, he reached for Cas’ phone and said, “Okay. Let’s see what you have—”

            He cut himself off as Cas reached for his phone and Dean almost elbowed him in the face to keep him off. “Dean—” Cas started, in protest, as Dean laughed.

            “What? You hiding another boyfriend on this thing?” Dean shifted away from him and hit the power button. The phone burst to life and, staring right at him, was the tabloid picture of them saying goodbye to Claire at the airport. The laughter left his throat and his smile faded into something softer as Cas deflated beside him.

            “It’s not...”

            Dean nodded but didn’t move to open the phone. The red of the headline was still visible at the bottom of the photo, like Cas had cropped it himself off a screenshot from some internet article. They looked like a family. Dean had known that was the whole point of the story, had even seen the picture before, but at the moment, it felt different than it had the first time. He could imagine himself at the airport again, sending Claire off to college or onto her own world tour.

            Cas reached over and unlocked the phone with his thumbprint. The picture slid away to reveal the shot Dean had taken from a concert of all the hands raised in hearts. He had known Cas had that picture but didn’t know he’d put it as his phone background. He remembered the caption like it was yesterday: _sending you this much love._

Again, when Dean made no move, Cas reached over to open his photos. He had everything meticulously organized into albums and opened the one titled _Dean._

            “I get my own album?” Dean joked. His voice sounded rough though. He felt like he was about to cry but swallowed back the thickness in his throat. He really was just so far gone.

             “It’s the only way I can keep track of all the dumb selfies you send me.”

            “I don’t send you dumb selfies.”

            “They show up on your snap story.”

            Dean laughed, glad the tension between them was easing. Cas shifted closer again and they started to flip through pictures again, going back to old arguments and finding some new ones. In the end, they rounded up three pictures that they agreed could go onto Instagram – a silhouette shot of Dean by the bedroom window with the glow of the sunset in the distance, a goofy shot of Cas laughing into his cereal that was too close to his face but at least looked real, and finally, a staged shot of Dean’s leg hooked over Cas’ as they sat on the couch together.

            Dean tried out a few filters on each of them as they brainstormed captions and discussed what shot to use. After a while, Cas leaned his head onto Dean’s shoulder and said, “Why don’t we just send all three to Sam and let him decide?”

            The part of Dean that didn’t want his little brother running his social media wanted to protest but then Cas kissed the collar of his shirt. His lips moved up his neck, soft and sweet and wanting, and Dean sighed in defeat. He texted the three edited photos to Sam with the simple message _choose one_ and then turned his head to catch Cas’ lips.

            He threaded his fingers into the hair at the nape of Cas’ neck and pulled him deeper into the kiss. His phone buzzed but he let it fall in between them, into the couch cushions probably, as he pushed Cas back and crawled on top of him. The kisses felt lazy, natural, as Cas’ hands ran down the length of his chest and then back up his sides. Dean slid a hand under Cas’ shirt as he pressed their lips together time and time again but neither of them made a move to push it further. They made out for a while before Dean sat back, breathless and flushed and half-hard.

            Cas looked up at him with hazy eyes and red lips.

            “How do you feel about Winchester family Thanksgiving?”


	44. Chapter 44

Cas had considered the Thanksgiving proposal seriously for several days before Dean had snapped, “I’m not gonna let you sit here and throw a pity party all weekend long.” So, even though Cas had serious reservations about what it meant to be spending the holiday together, he pushed them aside in a bout of real thankfulness. It wasn’t like he could sit on the couch all weekend eating ice cream and watching Netflix. Well, he _could_ , but the photographers who occasionally graced their front lawn might have something to say about that.

            They arrived in Queens after a tumultuous day of travel. The flight was delayed three hours. Dean had almost gotten into a fist fight with the gate agent and it took Cas several minutes to calm them both down enough that they didn’t get kicked out of the airport. However, it would create a new scandal so Dean could feel seen again. But Dean hadn’t liked that joke very much.

            After switching flights, waiting through two connections, signing dozens of autographs, and smiling woodenly for nearly a hundred selfies, they arrived at Sam’s house late Wednesday night. Cas yawned as Dean handed over a fold of twenties to the cabbie and then slipped out of the car to help with the bags. They had packed two big duffle bags and Dean swung one over each shoulder, leaving Cas empty-handed.

            “Should we have bought something? Flowers?” Cas whispered as they made their way up the cobblestone path.

            “The house is basically a flower shop already.” Dean shifted one of the bags but when Cas reached to grab it, stepped out of his reach. He rang the bell and waited.

            Sam’s house was nothing like Dean’s. It was one story, brick, and had a small burgundy door. Several windows lined the front of the house but they were all a normal size and covered with opaque blinds. Flower boxes sat under a few of them with fall flowers still in full bloom despite the chilly night. Cas breathed in and smelled cinnamon and pumpkin.

            A blonde woman with a happy smile opened the door. She ushered them both in quickly, commenting on the cold and how long their day must have been. Once Dean set down the bags, she hugged him and then offered Cas her hand. “I’m Jess,” she said, “Sam’s wife.”

            Cas shook her hand warmly. “I’m sorry we don’t have anything to—”

            She waved him off. “Nonsense. You’re family. I wouldn’t accept anything you brought me.” She brushed her wild blonde hair back from her face, revealing a streak of flour on her cheek. “Now, Dean, you know where the room is. Cas, come with me into the livin—”

            “Sweetheart,” Sam said, approaching from another room. He brushed the flour off her cheek with a finger. “Maybe we should give Dean and Cas separate rooms. You know how Dean rolls in his sleep.”

            Jess huffed. “Don’t I ever.”

            “It’s fine, really,” Cas said, perhaps too quickly.

            Sam shot him an odd look, one eyebrow raising.

            “Two rooms is also fine,” Dean cut in with a sharp look Cas’ way. “We can—”

            “Two rooms?” Bobby boomed entering the conversation. He glanced between the two of them and then over to Sam and Jess. “I didn’t know you two were so conservative. You gotta be married now to share a room in this house?”

            Cas felt the heat rise to his cheeks and coughed into his hand, trying to hide it. His heart picked up speed in his chest. The very small part of him that had warned him this would be a bad idea reared up and took over his thoughts as he stared at their identical duffle bags. If he could just remember which one his stuff was in, he could pick it up, insist separate rooms were fine, and just head in whatever way Jess pointed him. But, for the life of him, he had no idea what bag his stuff was in.

            “Please make them sleep in different rooms.” Jo swung into the room with a smile and winked at Cas. “I don’t wanna hear them all night long.”

            Dean’s eyes widened comically as Ellen also entered the room, mercifully silent. Cas looked at Dean for some sort of cue but he had none to give. So Cas did the only thing he could and stood there silently while the rest of the group descended into an inane argument about whether or not they should sleep in the same room.

            Sam maintained it was best for everyone’s sleep if they were separated whereas Jess argued that they barely had enough rooms to house everyone as it was. Cas couldn’t tell if she knew what was really going on or not from her arguments. Bobby kept repeating that if they were separated, they’d probably just sneak into each other’s rooms anyways, which Cas had to admit was probably true. And Jo and Ellen mainly stayed out of it as they tried to pull Dean into polite conversation amidst the chaos.

            Finally, Jess cut off the arguing with a sharp whistle. Her blue-eyed gaze hardened and stared down everyone until they closed their mouths. “We are being ridiculous,” she said. “Dean and Cas are our guests and they can decide for themselves whether or not they want to share a room. Or would anyone like to start an argument about whether or not they’re adults capable of making their own decisions?”

            Sam almost smiled but swallowed it quickly when his wife glared at him, then turned to everyone as if daring them to argue with her. Cas could see it now. When she’d greeted them just minutes earlier, he had this view of her as a happy homemaker, but as she stared the group down, he knew she’d be formidable in a courtroom. She got to the end of the group and her fierce expression blinked away like it’d never been there at all. Smiling at both of them, she asked, “So, what’ll it be?”

            Cas stared at her for a moment too long before he realized Dean hadn’t said anything either. He glanced at him, hoping for some sort of reaction, some cue as to how to play this, but Dean looked more lost than he felt. Dean’s eyes darted between Sam and Bobby, as if trying to communicate something to one of them, or both of them. Cas took a deep breath and said, “We’ll share. We don’t want to put you out, Jess.”

            She smiled. “Then follow me.”

            Cas picked up the duffle bags since Dean seemed a little frozen and started after her. A moment later, he heard footsteps behind him. Jess led them down a short hallway, turned right, and then squeezed into another narrow hall to the left. It stopped three feet in at a door which she opened and walked through.

            Cas followed her into the room, a small space with a desk covered in papers and walls covered in bulletin boards. The walls were a light blue, an almost baby blue, and the only bed in the place was a set of bunk beds. Cas just barely contained his laughter.

            “I don’t know why Sam thinks I didn’t have a plan for this,” Jess said with just a hint of annoyance. She squeezed Dean’s arm as she stepped towards the door. “Settle in, then find your way back to the living room. We have mulled wine waiting.”

            As the door swung half-closed behind her, Dean finally let out a sigh of relief. “Thank god for Jess.”

            Cas laughed. “If only she and Sam had discussed the strategy first.”

            “I think Sam thought I’d told Bobby the truth.” Dean licked his lips as he glanced over at the bunk beds. “Or what’s supposed to be the truth.”

            Cas scanned the twin beds and the rickety wooden frame. “You don’t think we can squeeze together on one of those beds?”

            “I’m more worried about splintering the frame.” He walked over and ran his fingers over the wood, the smile slowly fading from his lips. He picked at a splinter on the frame until it came off and fell to the carpeted floor.

            Dropping the duffle bags, Cas looked around the room. For the most part, it resembled an office space. The legal briefs everywhere made it clear that this was Jess’ space, her refuge. But the baby blue walls, the bunk bed, and what seemed to be a toy chest in the corner told a different story.

            Cas met Dean’s eyes.

            “Don’t mention it,” he said. “Jess... can’t have kids.”

            He nodded and looked away.

            “Ready for mulled wine?”

            “How are we playing this?” Cas said as he followed Dean out the door. “What’s the happy medium between not acting platonic in front of Bobby and not giving away the affair to Sam?”

            Dean exhaled a laugh and reached back his hand. Cas took it, tangling their fingers together and holding on tight. “Just act like your normal tea party self,” he joked.

 

The next morning, Cas woke up late and slightly hungover. He blinked open his eyes to see Dean sitting at the desk and writing in his beat up lyric notebook. On the floor beside the bed, a cup of coffee sat. Cas reached for it and managed to sit up enough not to spill it all over himself when he sipped at it. Black coffee swirled bitterly in his mouth but he swallowed it down before closing his eyes against his pounding head.

            “It’s strong stuff,” Dean said.

            Cas opened one eye to look at him. “I only had two glasses.”

            Dean turned in the chair, smirking. “Told you you’re a lightweight.”

            Cas flipped him off as he sat up and promptly bumped his head against the top of the bunk. Coffee dripped down the side of the mug and burned his fingers. His headache tripled on the pain threshold. And soon, Dean was right next to him, grabbing the mug and guiding him carefully out from under the bunk. He kept his hand on the small of Cas’ back as he got to his feet and didn’t quite swallow his teasing smile.

            “Bobby’s not impressed,” Dean said. He licked the dripping coffee off the side of the mug. “He thinks my boyfriend should hold his liquor better.”

            Cas blinked at him. “I didn’t say anything stupid last night, did I? I remember going to bed...”

            “You were fine.” Dean laughed and pecked him on the lips. The kiss was so sweet, so brief, that Cas almost missed it when he blinked. “I bet you even remember the whole night. It’s the hangover where Jess’ mulled wine hits hardest.”

            “I think I believe you.” Cas breathed in and caught a whiff of the fall scents filling the house. The air smelled of turkey and potatoes and stewed vegetables. “We should help out in the kitchen.”

            “You should take a shower. And get dressed. They’re almost done in there anyways.”

            Cas glanced down at his rumpled pajamas and sniffed. But he couldn’t smell himself over the delicious smells of Thanksgiving dinner. Glancing up, he took in Dean’s own rumpled appearance and the unbrushed nature of his hair. He took a step closer and lowered his voice. “How far away, exactly, is this shower?”

            Dean did his best to hide his smile but still failed. His fingers played with the hem of Cas’ shirt, tickling his stomach. “I can’t have sex in my brother’s shower.”

            “Who wants to have sex in a shower?” Cas grabbed Dean’s hip and pulled their bodies flush together. He laid a tantalizing kiss on his lips, their noses rubbing together. “I just want to wash up with my boyfriend, who still smells like mulled wine.” Dean tried to pull away as Cas laughed, but Cas just held him tighter.

            “This is a bad idea.”

            “Why?”

            “What do you think is the first thing Sam will do if he finds out?” Dean took a step back and Cas let him. For all he tried, Dean couldn’t keep the soft smile on his face. “He’ll tell Chuck and Charlie. Even if he doesn’t yell at us himself—”

            “Charlie will pull me.”

            Dean nodded. Sadness flickered through his green eyes as he looked away and focused back on his notebook. Cas felt the urge to say something, anything, but he had no idea what the right words were. _Screw Charlie? Maybe Sam won’t tell them? I get it?_ But all those things sounded like lies to him, so instead he stepped away and said, “I’ll let you get back to it, then.”

            He walked into the hall and spent a few minutes peering into empty doorways looking for the bathroom. Turning a corner, he almost ran straight into Jess who laughed. “Looking for a shower?” she said.

            Cas smiled, trying not to think about how bad he probably smelled. Not showering after spending all of yesterday in stinky airports had probably done him no favours. He nodded and she showed him down the hall to a bathroom, told him to wait a minute, then disappeared to fetch towels.

            Cas examined his face in the mirror. His eyes looked tired and wrinkles had started to form in his skin. He wondered if he looked young enough to play Mason Haverford, even though he was basically the character’s age. His stomach rolled a little at the thought – he’d yet to tell Dean about the opportunity, had barely prepared for the screen test, and needed to call his lawyer back about the contracts.

            Jess reappeared with a stack of white towels. She handed them through the half-open door and then said, “You know, for what it’s worth, I think you two are really cute together.”

            Cas stared at her for a moment, then opened his mouth to say something but the words wouldn’t come out.

            She laughed. “Don’t worry. You’re secret’s safe with me.”

            “Thanks.”

            She squeezed Cas’ arm. “Dean’s a lot, I get that, and if you ever need to talk to someone who actually knows the whole story, you’re welcome to call.”

            Cas nodded as she backed out and closed the door. Then, he let out a heavy exhale as he realized he’d been holding his breath through the whole exchange. Tears pooled in his eyes as the stress rolled off his shoulders and he gripped onto the counter to try to push it all away. His efforts failed, but at least the shower was hot and his heart forgiving.

 

Thanksgiving dinner came and went with a lot of jokes at his expense, delicious food scarfed down far past the point of fullness, and excessive gratefulness. When asked what he was grateful for, Dean mumbled out something about his label, then turned to Cas and said, “You.” Cas felt his heart fill as he met Dean’s eyes and saw the honesty in them. He’d leaned forward and kissed him, soft and slow, before pulling away and whispering, “I’m grateful for you too.” The table had exploded into catcalls and Sam shot them a suspicious glance.

            Long after leaving the table, Cas was still in a half-coma from all the good food and picking at a piece of pumpkin pie. He’d sunk down into a leather arm chair a few hours ago and so far had not moved. Football played on the TV but no one paid much attention to the game – Dean had started chatting with Bobby about the new album, Jess and Jo were engrossed in the ethical implications of a high profile legal case, and Sam, like Cas, was half asleep from all the food.

            Cas scraped the last bite of pie from the plate and put it in his mouth despite his stomach being close to bursting. Pumpkin exploded on his taste buds and he let out a none-too-PG sound as he chewed. He saw Dean glance his way, laughing just a little, and flipped him off lazily.

            Sam shifted his gaze between the two of them. “For what it’s worth, you’ve been good for him.”

            Cas met Sam’s eyes and tried to see if there was anything behind that statement. But whether it was his publicist’s training or years of suppressing childhood trauma, Sam’s expression was unreadable. Cas swallowed the pie, licked his lips, and said, “He’s been good for me too.”

            “You’re getting into a good rhythm now.” Sam kept his voice steady, lazy, so Cas almost didn’t realize the next words were a challenge. “We’re going to have to start talking exit strategies soon.”

            Almost.

            Cas managed the thinnest of smiles, hoping he looked tired from the turkey and not upset over the course of the conversation. By sheer force of will, he managed not to glance Dean’s way. “It’s a little early, isn’t it?” Cas scraped his fork across the crumbs on his plate as an excuse to look down. “We’ve still got the movie premiere to get through.”

            “Never too early to have a strategy. Especially since the fans are so invested in your relationship.”

            Cas nodded as he licked his fork. “We’ll talk about it.”

            Thankfully, Sam dropped the conversation there as Dean hit him in the arm and dragged him into the conversation with Bobby. Cas caught only snippets of it over the din in the room but he was pretty sure it had something to do with whether or not human warriors were useless in a D&D campaign. He shifted closer, smiling when Dean started in on a passionate rant about how half-orcs had more strength, and offered his own opinion when Dean wound down. Dean glanced his way, a hint of blush on his cheeks, and Cas smiled at him.

            The conversation ran on for several minutes, switching to elves and hinging on Sam’s insistence that class was more important than race. Cas’ phone buzzed and he glanced over at it, half-distracted. His heart dipped when he saw Jack’s name on the screen and he excused himself from the conversation to answer it.

            Making his way into the kitchen, where dishes were piled high with soap and left to soak, Cas said, “Hey, Jack.” He took a seat at the island. “I thought you were at grandma’s.”

            “Yeah, we are. We went into town to look at the Thanksgiving decorations the city put up. There’s a giant turkey the size of... well, your house, and Claire spent like ten minutes trying to climb it.” Jack laughed but his voice sounded strained.

            Cas had the good grace to chuckle as his mind raced to figure out why his son was calling him. It didn’t sound like anything had happened – Jack was good about that, if there was a problem, he’d say it immediately – but he didn’t sound happy either. “How was the turkey? Did it cook in that old oven?”

            “Grandma insists it’s a classic.”

            “So it’s not done yet?”

            “I’m starving.”

            Cas laughed and poked his head around the corner as shouts went up in the next room. Apparently, the football game had finally caught Bobby’s attention and he was shouting about the referee’s dumbass calls. Cas slipped off the stool and walked further from the doorway, phone pressed to his ear.

            “Want me to call your mom and complain?” he said. “I’m sure I can twist it into some sort of child abuse scandal so that she’ll buy you a sandwich or something.”

            “We have maple candy.”

            “Sounds filling.”

            Quiet and static splattered over the line. From the other end, Cas could hear the sounds of people chattering on the street and a couple of cars going by. On his own end, the clamour of the group had died down a little and the TV volume had gone up.

            When Jack said nothing for almost a minute, Cas prompted, “Why’d you call?”

            “I miss you.” Jack’s voice broke.

            Cas felt his heart stop. A tear streaked down his cheek, too fast to stop. “I know. I miss you too,” he managed. He fought to keep his voice steady and his breathing even. “But I’ll see you soon.”

            “When?” Anger crept into his voice. “You’ve been promising that since Claire ran off and I haven’t seen you. And now it’s Thanksgiving and you’re not here. You’re off with your new family in Queens and—”

            “Whoa. New family?”

            “I know you’re with Dean. It’s all over social media.” Jack sniffed hard. “Whatever. I get it. We’re in the same damn city and you can’t even be bothered to see me. It’s fine.”

            “You know the custody agreement doesn’t allow me to just pop in, Jack.”

            “It sucks! What have you ever done to deserve that?”

            Cas tried to respond but the phone went static. He could hear murmurs on the other end of the line, more of Jack’s muffled outburst, and then he returned to the phone with a calmer voice. “Mom says I have to hang up now.”

            “Jack—”

            “Bye, dad.”

            The call cut off. Cas kept the phone pressed to his ear, hoping the dial tone was a mistake until the call started to beep. He dropped the phone on the counter and pressed his hand to his mouth, trying to stop the pressure behind his eyes from breaking into full blown sobs.

            “Hey, we’re just about to—” Dean stopped in the doorway. “Are you okay?”

            Cas shook his head and tried to wave him off. “Just go and... and do whatever you were going to... do.” His breath came in heavy huffs and he felt like his lungs weren’t getting enough oxygen. He gripped the counter tight, his knuckles going white.

            Dean crossed the kitchen in a few long strides and wrapped him up in a hug. He held on so tight it forced the oxygen in Cas’ lungs to release and he breathed in more easily as he buried his face in Dean’s shoulder. He didn’t want to cry but he couldn’t help the tears that started to stream down his face. Before he knew it, he was heaving sobs into Dean’s nice black shirt. Dean’s arms held on tight, strong and safe, and he whispered meaningless reassurances in his ear.

            At one point, Cas was pretty sure that Sam came to check on them. He heard little of whatever Dean whispered to him – something about going on ahead, they’d catch up – and, not long after, his sobs eased a little. Dean guided him into one of the kitchen chairs but didn’t let go fully – his hands lingered, one of Cas’ shoulder and the other on his knee as he knelt before him.

            “You wanna tell me what’s wrong?” Dean whispered.

            Cas shook his head.

            “You wanna go out and play football?”

            He shook his head again.

            Dean chewed on his bottom lip for a moment before moving to brush the last of the tears off of Cas’ cheeks. “Whatever happened,” he said, voice so soft Cas might as well have been broken glass, “I am here and I am on your side, okay?”

            Cas felt the pressure press behind his eyes again and he bent his head as a hard sob racked through his body. Dean cradled him close again, his hand rubbing down Cas’ back. “It was a mistake,” Cas mumbled into his shoulder. “I made one, fucking stupid mistake.”


	45. Chapter 45

Dean felt like he was walking around IEDs all morning. If he focused, he could see the bumps in the carpet and the loose floorboards where they had been hidden. Cas had put on a brave face, faked a smile, and made loose chatter over breakfast as if nothing bad had happened despite the fact that he had spent most of the night sobbing into Dean’s arms. And Dean, despite every shitty moment in his past, had no idea what to do. He’d spent eight hours in bed and hadn’t had a wink of sleep as his heart worried over Cas and whatever it was that he wouldn’t tell him. As he sipped his coffee, everyone started to pack into cars for early morning Black Friday shopping.

            Dean caught Cas’ arm as he headed for the door. “Maybe you shouldn’t,” he said.

            Cas’ smile was like reconstructed glass – previously broken, but still beautiful enough to catch the sunlight. “Come with us,” he said and stepped close, even though Sam was only a few feet away. “It’ll be fun.”

            The last thing Dean considered fun was fighting a mob-like crowd just so he could get the best deal on a blender but he nodded anyways. Without Cas, even though leaving him for a second felt like leaving a limb behind, Dean headed back to his room and got dressed. He came back out and ended up squished in the backseat of Jess’ van with Cas and Jo. He tangled his fingers through Cas’ and held on tight, knowing he might not have the words but he could at least try to have the silent support thing down.

            Parking took over half an hour despite the fact that the mall hadn’t even opened yet. Dean sighed loudly, which earned him a glare from Sam and a nudge in the ribs from Jo. He looked over at Cas who was firmly glued to his phone. The screen was open to a conversation with Jack, but from what Dean could tell, Cas was just reading through old conversations and not actively texting him.

            Dean wanted to push more than anything but Cas seemed determined to put on a brave face. It broke Dean’s heart every time he smiled and it didn’t reach his eyes. But he kept hold of his hand as they exited the van and headed for the mall entrance, joining the throngs of people milling around in the hallways and waiting in long lines to get through the doors.

            “Please tell me you guys have a game plan,” Dean said.

            Jess shrugged, looking like a picture perfect princess in her white sweater and black leggings, her smile flawless and unstrained. “I’m just looking for good deals and to have a little fun.” She looked around at the rest of the group with a stern expression. “Here are the rules: no one yells at store employees and no one gets arrested.”

            “No promises,” Dean muttered.

            Cas let out an exhaled laugh at his side.

            Dean glanced over and smiled at the somewhat genuine joy on his face. “What do you say, Sam? Should I get into a brawl over a toaster oven to keep my bad boy image intact?”

            Sam shook his head but didn’t dignify the comment with a response.

            They headed towards a department store and chatted for a few minutes until the doors opened. The crowd pushed forward. Dean promptly lost everyone except for Cas, who had latched onto his arm and held tight as everyone shoved them forward. Once they got away from the doors, the crowd went from claustrophobic to just busy and Dean led Cas through a maze of shelves advertising two dollar towels.

            “Do we need towels?” Cas asked.

            “Do we need anything?”

            Cas smiled and picked up a bright red towel. “Two dollars is a good deal.”

            “I’m sorry.” Dean gave him an incredulous look. “ _How much_ did you get paid for your last movie?”

            He laughed and set the towel down. “I like Black Friday, okay? It reminds me of when I didn’t have as much and it felt like the only day when I could actually shop.” He pulled his hand out of Dean’s as he wandered further into the towel section, his fingers running over the edges of shower curtains. “And then, later on, when Kelly and I would go just to get lost in the crowds.”

            Cas turned to Dean with a smile. “Look around. We’re in public with hundreds of people around us and not one of them gives a shit who we are.” He stepped closer and tugged Dean forward by his belt loops. “Admit it – it’s nice to be anonymous.”

            Dean let Cas kiss him, soft and quick, but said nothing. He examined his face up close, the lines in it, the tired circles under his eyes, and tried to smile back. “It’s pretty cool,” he lied and then glanced back into the aisles of chaos. “But can’t you just pay someone to pick up cheap shit for you?”

            Cas laughed. “That would negate the point of buying cheap shit.” He linked their hands again and pulled Dean away from the towels, into the kitchen appliances. He picked up a shiny new toaster and handed it to Dean. “No arrest needed.”

            “I don’t need a toaster.”

            “You do,” Cas said. “I broke the old one.”

            “You what?”

            “Or it broke itself.” He turned away quick, trying to wave it off as he wandered away.

            “How’d you break my toaster?” Dean hiked the new toaster under his armpit and caught up to Cas. He slung his free arm around Cas’ waist, pulling him close. He kissed his cheek. “How do you even break a toaster?”

            “I don’t know. It just doesn’t work anymore.” Cas tried not to laugh as Dean sprinkled his jaw line with kisses. Then, his phone buzzed, and his face fell before he even reached for it.

            Dean got it first, dipping his hand into Cas’ back pocket and retrieving it. “Text from Sam asking where we are.” If possible, Cas’ face fell further. “Do you want to—”

            “No.” Cas grabbed his phone and typed out a reply. He shoved his phone firmly into his back pocket again and started to walk away.

            Dean followed at a slight distance, feeling like the definition of useless. He wondered if this is what he would have felt like if Lisa had let him stick around. Would she have been upset and distant and trying to put on a brave face and would she have pushed him away with every step? Would Dean’s heart have broken like this, unable to help but unwilling to just walk away?

            They met up with the rest of the group and Cas linked his arm through Jess’ as they walked through the store. Dean trailed a few steps behind and Sam stepped back to walk with him. After a moment, Sam said, “Is he all right?”

            “I have no fucking clue.” Dean heard the break in his voice and swallowed back the tears that threatened to overwhelm him. Instead, he focused on that little spark of anger that lit up inside him. “He won’t tell me a damn thing. And he’s acting like last night never happened, like he’s been fine the whole time.”

            Dean felt Sam’s eyes on the side of his face but refused to look his way. He wiped a hand across his mouth, blinking back the tears. “I just want him to _talk_ to me. Is that too much to ask?”

            Sam shrugged. “Maybe he needs space right now. He’ll tell you when he’s ready.”

            “It’s killing me,” Dean whispered. “I know his heart must be breaking and he won’t let me do a damn thing about it.”

            Sam said nothing for a long moment. Then, he wrapped an arm around Dean’s shoulders and squeezed him closer in a one-armed hug. “Are you sure this is smart?”

            Dean didn’t ask what he was talking about, didn’t try to play dumb. But if he didn’t say it out loud, if he didn’t make it explicit, he knew that Sam wouldn’t blab to Chuck or Charlie. So he shrugged and said, “Smart was never really my strong suit.”

            Sam’s arm fell. “He’ll tell you when he’s ready. Try to have some fun today.”

            Dean rolled his eyes but Sam blocked his protests with a raised hand. He tapped Jess on the shoulder and asked if they were done there. They headed for the tills, which took a century to get through, and then the group wandered into the next store and the next and the next. Jess and Cas made a competition out of picking up the ugliest thing they could find in each store and whatever the cheaper item was, they had to buy it. It made for a lot of bags but also got them a Santa cookie jar with one eye, a denim vest with a sparkly tiger on the back of it, and three legal notepads with skulls and crossbones printed as the lines.

            The group split off into pieces again and Dean ended up on his own browsing guitars in a music shop. They had some good amps and a couple decent guitars, but nothing Dean needed. He ended up being recognized by the store owner and signed a few autographs as well as a guitar for the guy before wandering back into the main hall.

            He stopped in front of a lingerie place a few doors down, looked both ways before going in, and reveled in the crowded anonymity. Maybe Cas had been right. It was nice to be anonymous. He hid the little pink bag in one of the bigger bags, making a mental note not to forget he put it in with Jess’ new sheets, and then scanned the hall for another store to go into.

            Hot Topic sat at the end of the row and Dean hesitated before going in. He’d only met Claire once but she fit the type – a lot of black, a lot of leather, and a concert tee to boot. After a few minutes browsing through t-shirts, someone bumped into him. Dean looked up to see Cas smiling.

            “Looking for Claire?” he said.

            Dean opened his mouth, stammered out nonsense, and then put the t-shirt in his hands down. “No,” he said finally.

            Cas cocked an eyebrow. “Okay... well, if you _were_ trying to buy gifts for my kids, which of course, you’re not, because that would be weird given that...” He glanced at a group of kids not too far away and thought better of whatever he was going to say. “Claire likes practical things. New guitar strings. A couple picks. Oil for her damn motorcycle.”

            Dean laughed. “She has a motorcycle?”

            “It was not my idea.” Cas stepped away from the t-shirts so Dean followed.

            “Kelly’s?”

            “No. We took a united front on _no motorcycle_ until Jack had her back – he was barely thirteen at the time – and gave a whole presentation on how hard lines in parenting didn’t work out ninety percent of the time.” Cas sighed in frustration, but a smile itched at his lips. “So we came to a compromise. She could get a motorcycle if she paid for it herself.”

            “Let me guess. Retail money goes a lot further than you thought.”

            Cas rolled his eyes and paused beside a display for _Tattletale Tricks_ merchandise. He picked up a stuffed version of the main character’s purple glowing ball companion – Dean thought the thing might have had a name and been considered a pet but he never had read past the first chapter of that book – and squeezed it. “She got a gig as a band member for a local underage club and made the money in a under week.”

            “Smart girl.”

            “Don’t encourage her.” But he was smiling.

            Dean took the purple ball out of Cas’ hand and stepped closer. “So, Claire’s going to be fine as long as I get her something practical, but what about Jack?”

            Whatever joy Cas had managed to get back fell right out of him. He shrugged and pulled away. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice fading as he turned around. Dean put down the ball and headed after him as he continued, “... never been a huge fan of gifts. Says he doesn’t need anything and doesn’t want anything either.”

            Cas paused just outside the door, then stepped to the side quick when someone bumped into him. Dean joined him in leaning against the storefront but didn’t say a word. Cas stared at his feet and Dean stared at them too.

            “He always says he prefers giving gifts. Makes him damn near impossible to shop for.”

            Dean nudged Cas’ foot with his own. “You could donate to a charity under his name. I’m sure he’d like that.”

            Cas looked up suddenly, his eyes filled with tears.

            “Or not.”

            “No. That’s... that’s a great idea, I just... _fuck_. I finally have a gift idea he might actually like and... I won’t be there when he opens it.” Tears started to stream down Cas’ cheeks but no sobs broke from him and his eyes stayed steady, blinking through the waterworks.

            It was almost worse to watch him cry like that, completely in control but in so much pain. “You could ask Kelly,” Dean said. “I’m sure she wouldn’t—”

            Cas shook his head. “She won’t want me there. Not after...” He cursed loudly and several people looked their way, startled.

            Dean stepped in front of him to block him from the worst of the crowd. He took hold of his shoulders. “Maybe this isn’t the place for this.” He bit his bottom lip. “Give me a second, okay? I’ll meet you back at the car.”

            Dean kissed him hard just to make leaving him hurt a little less. Then he scrambled off to get the keys from Sam, muttering some half-assed excuse and promising not to leave without the rest of them. He made his way through the parking lot to see Cas leaning against the hood of the van, no longer crying but curled around himself as his breath fogged out.

            “Sorry.” Dean unlocked the car and they slipped inside. He insisted that they use the back seat, where he could press right up against Cas and hold his hands. He took a second to blast the heat and shove the bags into the trunk before he joined Cas again. “Okay.” He took a deep breath. “Why won’t Kelly want you there?”

            “Well, umm, you remember how Balthazar mentioned a restraining order?”

            “Yeah.” Dean thought he’d said the word out loud but, from the way Cas looked up at him, he could tell he’d gone breathless. “Yes,” he said louder, stronger. He cradled Cas’ hands in his own and squeezed tight, not wanting to drop his gaze for even a second.

            “I didn’t want to believe that Kelly was leaving me.” Cas swallowed hard and looked down at their hands. “She cheated on me. And I forgave her. I wanted to make it work. I loved her and we had two kids and...” His voice hitched and he closed his eyes. “And I thought she was my only future. I didn’t want to... let that go.”

            Dean let the silence fall but Cas didn’t start up again. “The restraining order?” he prompted.

            “It was just after we’d filed for divorce. The custody agreement was the toughest part of the negotiations but... it was going to be fine. I was going to get the kids half the time and we’d find somewhere we both wanted to live and... and everything was going to be okay.” Cas swallowed hard.

            “Then Balthazar... well, I ran into him one day and the part of me who wanted to be civil about things said I was happy for him and Kelly, even though it was a lie. And he gave me the weirdest look because... they weren’t together. She wasn’t leaving me for him. She was just... leaving me.

            “And maybe I lost it a little.” He huffed out a bit of a laugh but the sound was strained. He pulled his hands out of Dean’s. “Or maybe I thought she still loved me, deep down. I don’t know. I don’t know what I was thinking. But I just needed to talk to her so... I started following her.” His voice almost went out his whisper was so low.

            Dean wanted to touch him, coax the words out of him, but he didn’t want to push. Cas had pulled back his hands, had even shifted his knee so it wouldn’t knock against Dean’s again. Taking a deep breath, Dean said, “Why not call her?”

            “I did. So much that she blocked my number.” Cas shook his head. “I was young and stupid when I married her and I didn’t grow at all during the whole time we were together. At least not as a husband. And the twenty year-old part of me that married her thought that if she would just listen to me, that if we could just talk, that she would take me back. That she would realize I loved her and we had a family and that that was all that mattered.”

            “That sounds reasonable.”

            “It was stupid,” Cas snapped. Anger flashed through his eyes. “It was so fucking dumb. She hated me and she had every reason to and I fucking followed her around for weeks. I’m amazed the restraining order was the worst of it. She could have pressed charges. She could have sent me to prison. And I would have deserved it.”

            “You didn’t hurt her.” Dean swallowed. “Did you?”

            “Of course not.” Cas pursed his lips and let out a shaky breath. “But I scared her. I never hurt her but I can see how I seemed unhinged. How she could have been afraid. And how she could be afraid for the kids too.”

            Dean brushed a tear off Cas’ skin and, when he didn’t flinch away, let his palm settle against Cas’ cheek. “It was a dumb fucking move,” Dean said, fighting to keep his voice steady as his whole body shook, “but you don’t deserve to be punished for one mistake for the rest of your life.”

            “Maybe I do.” Cas sniffed and met Dean’s eyes. “But my kids don’t. And yesterday, Jack called me and asked why I didn’t care enough to see him even though we’re in the same city.”

            “Fuck, Cas—”

            “There isn’t anything to say. Trust me, if you’re looking for the perfect words... they don’t exist. My son is probably less than an hour away right now and I can’t see him, even though I haven’t seen him in half a year and he wants to see me and I want to see him.”

            “I’m so sorry.” Dean knew the words meant nothing, that they helped nothing, but Cas was right. There wasn’t anything to say.

            Cas managed a weak smile. “Thank you.”

            Dean wrapped an arm around Cas’ shoulders and shifted closer. Silence settled between them, comfortable but heavy, as Cas rested his head on Dean’s shoulder and sniffled. Dean finally let his own damn break and a few tears trickled down his cheeks as he held Cas tight. A text came in on his phone telling him the rest of the crew was on their way back.

            The drive home was quiet but Dean felt somehow lighter as Cas dozed on his shoulder. At least one of them was finally getting some sleep. Dean’s mind swirled with results from solutions he couldn’t come up with, picturing Cas sitting with his kids on Christmas morning, but he had no idea how to make it happen.

            They trudged back into Sam’s house, handing off bags to the right people, and Dean took all the ugly crap Cas and Jess had bought. He trailed Cas back to the bedroom and dropped the bags on the floor as Cas slumped into the bottom bunk. He stared at his blank phone screen, still scrolling through old texts with Jack.

            “You should call him,” Dean said.

            “He’ll be back at his grandma’s. They don’t have cell reception.”

            “In the Hamptons?”

            Cas shrugged. “It’s not really the Hamptons. It’s further out of town and...” He broke off his a sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

            Dean let it drop. He kneeled down to sort through the crap Cas had picked up at the mall just as he heard Jess half-shout, “What the _hell_ is this?” from the other room.

            Cas looked towards the door curiously and then back at Dean. Dean’s mouth dropped open but he had the good grace to wince. “I knew I forgot something.”


	46. Chapter 46

Tuesday morning, once they had safely made their way back to Dean’s house through the throngs of paparazzi at the airport, Cas checked the entertainment news notifications on his phone. Thanksgiving and Black Friday had given the tabloids lots of shots of them together – mostly from the airport, but there were a few blurry shots from the mall as well. Dean had posted on Instagram after their shopping trip to show the bag full of crap Cas had bought and the backlash was a bunch of silly, not-genuinely-annoyed fans who asked if he didn’t have better things to spend his money on. And even though their annoyance wasn’t real, Cas’ guilt was, so he’d donated a thousand dollars to a local children’s hospital the next day.

            “Why are you still looking at those?” Dean wrapped his arms around Cas’ waist from behind and kissed his shoulder. “If it’s not a scandal or an insult, why even bother?”

            “Trying to make sure there is no scandal.” He saw the concern flash through Dean’s eyes again, the need to talk about the thing neither of them could fix. So he added, “But, so far, no lingerie picture.”

            Dean pulled away with a groan and Cas turned to face him with a smile. He leaned back against the kitchen counter as Dean opened the fridge door and stared inside blankly. Cas tapped his foot on the floor. “You still haven’t told me what you bought.”

            “It’s not important.”

            “Why buy lingerie if not to share it with your boyfriend?”

            Dean closed the fridge without grabbing anything. When he turned back to Cas, his cheeks were tinged red and the smile on his face wasn’t quite the controlling smirk he was going for. He stepped forward confidently and said, “But you’re not really my boyfriend, are you?”

            “Don’t you think it was weird,” Cas said, forcing his voice to stay steady as Dean approached him, “that I had to sit through a whole conversation with Sam and Jess where they somewhat attempted to give us a safe sex talk when I don’t even know what you bought?”

            Dean stopped a foot away and Cas reached out to pull him in.

            “Your brother tried to act like a concerned parent because of what he found in that bag. And considering who you are and what the tabloids say about you, not to mention that _you_ are probably the one who gave Sam ‘the talk’ in the first place, that makes me think whatever the hell Jess picked out of that bag was concerningly far from innocent.”

            Dean hummed in false consideration. “Fuck off.” But he made no move to step away from Cas.

            “Just tell me.” Cas let his fingers run up the buttons on Dean’s shirt, undoing them as he went. His eyes grazed across Dean’s exposed skin and his nail caught in the hair on his chest. When he got to the top button, he pushed the shirt off Dean’s shoulder. “I can make it worth your while.”

            He leaned in and kissed Dean’s neck, soft and slow. He felt Dean crumble, just a little, his legs shaking and his body leaning forward. Dean braced himself on the counter as he pushed forward, pushing Cas down, lording over him as he took his face in his hands. Cas let him take control, let Dean kiss him however he wanted to. He got Dean’s shirt off, then trailed his hands back down to the waistband of his jeans. He undid the button. Being with Dean was so much easier than thinking.

            “No insistence on the bedroom?” Dean asked between kisses.

            “You can fuck me wherever you want if you tell me what was in that bag.”

            Laughing, Dean pulled out of the kiss and then stepped out of Cas’ reach altogether. “Oh, so there’s a catch, now?”

            “Now?” Cas repeated, raising one eyebrow. He didn’t move from his spot leaning against the counter, opting instead of watch Dean pretend he was about to walk away. Just a few months together and Cas could read him like a book. He had never been able to do that with Kelly, not even after a decade of marriage. He could never tell what she was thinking by the line of her frown, never knew her next move by the sound of her steps. With Dean, every action felt like a hint towards the future.

            Dean stepped back towards him and pointed a finger in his face. “You can’t get everything you want just by batting your eyelashes at me.”

            “Is that a threat?” Cas smiled.

            “Yes.”

            He batted his eyelashes. “Can I get one thing I want?”

            Dean sighed, as if the whole thing was a big inconvenience to him, and then stepped forward quickly. His lips smashed into Cas’, hard and heavy, and Cas had to fight to keep up with his demanding tongue and nipping little bites. Dean gripped his hips tight, then hoisted him up onto the counter.

            Cas wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck as he leaned down to kiss him as Dean slid him forward on the counter until their hips were flush together. He felt Dean half-hard against the inside of his thigh and he thrilled at how easily Dean responded to him, at how little effort it took to get a reaction out of him. Cas threaded his fingers through Dean’s hair and pulled his head back, dropping his lips to the long expanse of his neck.

            Dean’s hands ran down the outsides of his thighs and then back up again. He groaned from somewhere low in his throat. As he raised his head, Cas caught his lips again, dipping back into the steamy kiss. Dean’s fingers dug into his thighs and held him tight.

            After a minute, Dean broke the kiss and muttered, “I have a call with Chuck in a few minutes.”

            “Then we should hurry up.” Cas dipped his hand down but Dean caught his wrist and held him still against the flat plane of his stomach. Cas raised an eyebrow. “Unless you don’t want to?”

            Dean smiled. “Of course I want to.”

            Cas glanced from Dean’s nervous face to where he held his hand to keep it from moving downwards. Without a word, he slipped off the counter and pushed Dean backwards until he was pressed against the fridge. The grip on his wrist didn’t loosen, even as he leaned in close and nibbled on Dean’s earlobe.

            “Tell me what’s wrong,” he whispered.

            Dean swallowed hard. He half-relaxed against the fridge. “I don’t want to give you everything you want.”

            “Are you wearing it?”

            He nodded.

            Cas took a step back and met Dean’s eyes. Slowly, he moved to undo Dean’s jeans and, when Dean didn’t stop him again, he started to pull them down. He nearly swallowed his tongue as the black lace came into view. Then, the denim hooked on the garters and Cas spent a full ten seconds mentally preparing himself before carefully untangling the pieces and pulling Dean’s jeans down the rest of the way.

            He kicked them off himself as Cas stepped back to appreciate the view. Dean Winchester in black lace panties, garters, and lacy pantyhose. Dean’s toes curled as Cas stared. When he finally pulled his eyes back up Dean’s body, he saw all the worry and embarrassment there, all the hurt that had somehow managed to stay with him through the years.

            But Cas didn’t have his voice back, couldn’t reassure Dean with pretty words. So instead, he kissed him hard, pulling their bodies close together and running his hands everywhere. Dean kissed back enthusiastically, pushing his hips up into Cas until Cas had to hold him down just to keep the friction at bay, just to keep control of himself.

            Dean undid his zipper and pushed down Cas’ pants and underwear all at once. Cas lost his breath as his hard cock brushed up against the rough lace. When the air came back to him, his lips half on top of Dean’s, a rough moan broke out of him. He cradled Dean’s face in his hands and tried to kiss the breath out of him, the worry, the bad, the good, everything that wasn’t the two of them standing in that kitchen.

            Somewhere, something buzzed.

            Dean turned his head out of the kiss. “That’ll be Chuck.”

            “Ignore it.”

            He pushed Cas off. “Patience.”

            “Really?” Cas stared after him as he started out of the room, the lace hugging his ass, the smooth lines of his calf muscles stretching the black tights. He licked his lips and reached out, catching Dean by the hip and pulling him back a step. He kissed right under his ear. “Chuck can wait.”

            “Sorry.”

            “I hate you.”

            Dean turned back to him with a smile but Cas couldn’t really focus on his face, not with his hard, flushed cock half peeking out of the panties. “Tell you what,” Dean said, still walking away backwards so that Cas had to follow him into the living room. He plopped down on the couch as he reached for his phone. “I’ll let you suck me off while I take the call.”

            Cas crossed his arms and rounded on Dean. It wasn’t that the idea of getting on his knees while Dean took a phone call wasn’t interesting to him, it was that he didn’t want Dean to _think_ it was interesting to him. “Is that really what you want to do while you’re on the phone with your manager?”

            Dean shrugged. “Chuck’s got a nice voice.”

            “And I don’t?”

            “Is that jealousy I hear?” And, before Cas could respond, Dean answered the phone. He kept his eyes trained on Cas, the challenge clear.

            Cas glared back at him for a long moment. There was no doubt in his mind that he was going to do it – he was a human man faced with gorgeous lingerie, it was pure animal instinct – but he wanted Dean to doubt it. His fingers twitched against his elbow. He chewed on his bottom lip. Dean raised one eyebrow and spread his legs.

            Swallowing down a whine, Cas fell to his knees and settled in between Dean’s legs. He mouthed at the lace tops of the pantyhose before moving up the inside of his thigh with his lips. His fingers hooked under the garters as his tongue trailed across the edge of the panties, tasting the salty sweat on Dean’s skin.

            He was half aware Dean had started to talk. He was more aware of Dean’s fingers running softly through his hair, the gentle scratch on the back of his head. Moving up, Cas sucked at the outline of Dean’s cock through the lace and felt Dean’s thighs twitch, his fingers falter. Trying not to smile, Cas pulled down the panties just enough to release Dean’s cock and wrapped his lips around the tip.

            Dean’s words cut off halfway through a sentence and Cas looked up to see his eyes flicker closed. “Sorry,” Dean managed a moment later and then, he hummed through some response as Cas took him deeper and hollowed out his cheeks.

            As he sucked Dean off, he could feel his own dick aching. He pressed closer to the couch and, despite its rough fabric, rubbed up against it. He swirled his tongue around Dean, let his moans rumble across the sensitive skin. He dug his nails into Dean’s thighs, trying to pull him closer.

            Every once in a while, when Dean stuttered or let out a breathless curse, Cas glanced up to see how he was doing. One of his hands had a death grip on the phone and the other was curled into a fist at his side. Cas could see him muttering silent prayers and curses whenever Chuck spoke on the other end and then he’d clear his throat, mutter some one word response, and go back to prayers.

            Cas thrust his hips into the couch and groaned around Dean’s cock. He pulled almost all the way off, tonguing the slit, before taking him back down in one swallow. Dean’s hips bucked up. Cas took the sudden pressure, whimpering, and reached forward to roll Dean’s balls in his hand. Dean let out a groan he tried to disguise as a curse and pretty soon Cas was sure he could hear Chuck yelling on the other end of the line.

            As Dean scrambled for a response, Cas redoubled his efforts. His whole body felt tense and fiery, white hot with desire. Dean’s fingers tangled into his hair, pulling, and Cas sucked harder. The couch rumbled as he humped up against it, the fabric scraping against his sensitive cock, everything too hot and too rough as the lace scraped against Cas’ cheeks, his arms, his hands. Dean’s hips bucked again and Cas groaned.

            Dean tossed the phone away. He shifted to the front of the couch and Cas didn’t budge, even as his cock made its way down his throat. “You like this?” he whispered, his voice dangerous.

            Cas did his best to nod and Dean started to thrust into his mouth. Cas moaned into the sensation or whined, he wasn’t sure. He hollowed out his cheeks as Dean caressed his cheek and his cock pounded against the back of his throat. Cas focused on breathing, even as his breath got heavier and shallower all at once. His cock scraped against the couch and, without even realizing he was close, his orgasm overtook him. He trembled as he came, Dean still pounding into his throat, and then Dean came too.

            Cas swallowed as best he could, his jaw sore and his throat screaming. He pulled off and coughed. Dean wiped come off his face with gentle fingers. “You okay?” he said.

            “Yeah,” Cas managed. He coughed again.

            Dean kissed him and pulled him up. Cas scrambled into his lap, straddling Dean’s thighs, as his tongue made its way into his mouth. “Now let’s take care of you,” Dean mumbled, his hand trailing down Cas’ chest. He wrapped his hand around Cas’ limp cock and paused, slipping out of the kiss.

            Cas looked down too at the mess, at his spent dick, at their naked bodies sitting on the living room couch. They really had to clean it before people came over again.

            “Really?” Dean said.

            Cas met his eyes, glossy and green, disbelieving and a little awed. Cas shrugged. “I really like lace.”

            “Apparently.” Dean caught his lips in another kiss.

            A phone buzzed. Both of them broke the kiss to look and Cas caught sight of his phone on the side table, buzzing with an incoming call from Charlie. Sighing, he gave Dean one last kiss and then reached for the phone. He didn’t move off of him, didn’t do much more than lower himself to sit on his thighs as he said, “Hello?”

            “Did you forget?” she said.

            Dean trailed a hand down Cas’ chest, curling the hair in his fingers. His lips touched Cas’ neck and shoulder softly, barely kisses.

            Cas closed his eyes. “I’m not late yet.”

            “Twenty minutes. I’m sending a car.” She hung up.

            Dean kissed the hollow of his throat and then his chin. “What was that about?”

            Cas kissed him hard and then stood up. “I have to go.”

            “Where?”

            “Umm...” Cas lost the ability to form words as he started the search for his clothes. He had only a loose idea of where he had undressed, of when he had lost what clothing. He headed into the kitchen. “The photo shoot thing for the part announcement,” he managed.

            “What?”

            The words had made sense to Cas but, as he thought about them, he realized the sentence had barely been coherent. He pulled his pants on and stepped back into the living room to see Dean still sprawled on the couch, blinking up at him. Cas swallowed the urge to climb back on top of him. He felt sticky and uncomfortable in his jeans but he had to get moving or he’d be late.

            “They’re announcing the series cast on Twitter closer to the premiere date and they need photos for it so—”

            “Series cast _for what_?”

            Cas abruptly closed his mouth. Over the course of the past few days, the TV offer had barely crossed his mind and telling Dean about it hadn’t even occurred to him. As they shifted from awkward fighting to a more comfortable place, some part of Cas must have just assumed he’d told him the good news. He had told someone, he was sure.

            Dean blinked at him, waiting.

            “I was asked to play Mason Haverford in the new _Tattletale Tricks_ series.”

            Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow. That’s... wow.”

            “I know.”

            “Well, congrats.” He paused and gestured down at himself. “I’d hug you but I don’t think I can fucking move.”

            Cas laughed and walked closer to kiss him. He lingered against his lips just a little too long before stepping back. “I’ll be back soon. Keep the lace.” He winked.

            The car took a few more minutes to show, enough time for Cas to clean up the worst of the mess on himself and put on a new shirt. He slid into the back of the car without a word but, when the driver let out a chuckle, he knew either the scent of sex or sweat or come was all over him. He briefly considered how to lie to Charlie about it but that only led to more thoughts of Dean in lingerie, the fridge behind him, and the embarrassed blush on his cheeks.

            Cas forced himself to think of other things.

            He arrived at a glass office building and the receptionist directed him to the twelfth floor. Luckily, before he caught up with Charlie, he was ushered into wardrobe. He tucked his clothes safely into a ball and blushed when an employee offered to wash them for him. But embarrassment took a back seat to photo shoot prep as he was forced into a pair of tight black jeans, a button-up black shirt with half the buttons undone, and expensive accessories, including a watch that cost more than his house.

            As the makeup artist contoured his face, Charlie popped up behind him. She squeezed his shoulders with a smile. “Are you excited?”

            “I look like a douche bag.”

            “Your character’s a douche bag.” She ran her hand over his newly spiked hair and swallowed a giggle when glitter came off on her fingertips. “And you look _great_. No doubt thousands of people will be thirsting after you the moment these photos come out.” She pulled out her phone and took a few photos herself.

            “Are you allowed to do that?”

            “As long as I don’t give it away, I can tease all I want.” She showed him the photo – a close-up of his profile half-done in makeup and the glitter in his hair. He nodded his approval. “I want to get people excited about what you might be doing next.”

            “But this isn’t _next_ yet. _Dreaded Darkness_ isn’t even out.”

            Charlie waved him off. “We want to keep the buzz high. And since Dean has settled down, he’s not generating a lot of buzz anymore.”

            Cas felt his stomach curl in on itself but swallowed down the feeling. Dean had to keep a low profile. That had been the point of this whole thing – lowering Dean’s profile – but the part of him that had some idea how the business worked also knew that Dean’s high profile was what sold albums. And he couldn’t help but think he might be ruining his sales while saving his career.

            “Anything we can do about that?” he asked.

            “What?”

            “Dean’s tabloid buzz,” Cas clarified. “He still needs to be known if he’s gonna sell a new album. Maybe we can help.”

            Charlie sighed. “Album’s take a long time to make, Cas. I’m sure by the time it comes out, he’ll have plenty of scandals.”

            Cas tried not to hear the implication in her words. The _by the time the album comes out you’ll be broken up_ that she didn’t want to say in front of the makeup artist. But Cas heard it loud and clear. He felt his stomach drop into his feet.

            “And next time you come to one of these things,” Charlie said, “take a shower first.”

            Cas was saved from having to come up with a response to that by his phone buzzing. The makeup artist put the finishing touches on his face, pulled off the bib, and stepped away to clean her brushes. Charlie wandered off to talk to the photographer and Cas pulled his phone out of his pocket. _Jack_.

            Swallowing hard, Cas answered the call. “Hey, buddy. You know I love to hear from you but I’m actually just about to step into a photo shoot.” His heart hit his feet. The last thing he wanted to do now was leave his kid hanging. “Can I call you back?”

            “It won’t take long.”

            “Okay.” Cas heard blood rushing in his ears.

            “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

            “For what?”

            “For what I said on Thanksgiving.” Jack let out a heavy breath. “I know it’s not your fault that you can’t see me and it wasn’t fair of me to put that on you.”

            Cas opened his mouth to say something but he had no idea what the words were supposed to be. Sighing, he said, “No, Jack... I’m sorry. I’m your dad and you’re right, I should be there for you. Whenever you need me. And I’m so unbelievably sorry that the things I’ve done have made that impossible.”

            A long silence and a loud buzz took over the line. Cas had to focus to hear Jack breathing. Then, at the second Cas thought the silence had stretched on too long, Jack said, “I just miss you.”

            “I miss you too.” Cas glanced up to see Charlie gesturing for him to hang up. He licked his lips. “We’ll talk tonight. And watch _Gossip Girl_. And I will do everything I can to make sure I can see you real soon, okay? I promise.”

            “Okay.”

            “I love you, Jack.”

            “I love you too, dad.”

            Cas hesitated, wanting to say more, but Jack hung up. He got out of the chair. Handing his phone off to Charlie, he took his place against the all-white backdrop and turned to the photographer with the best smile he could manage. “Let’s get started.”


	47. Chapter 47

Dean paced the studio as the hold music played over the phone. He had tried Sam’s private cell three times before giving up and calling the office instead – at least during business hours Sam couldn’t ignore him if it was work related – which it wasn’t but Dean wasn’t above an abuse of power or two.

            He glanced from his abandoned guitar to his laptop sitting on the leather bench. He had seven tabs open – one song related, two charity related, and the last four about custody agreements. Over the last few days, he’d done his best to try to figure out exactly how Kelly kept Cas away from his kids, but had quickly learned custody was a messy thing, relating more to the individual situation and less to the law.

            “Hello?” Sam said.

            “Hey, Sammy.” Dean forced his exhale to steady, even though it all came at him in a rush. He sat down. “I was wondering if there was any chance you could help me with something that’s not totally work related.”

            “I’m guessing this is why I have three missed calls from you?”

            “Have you been screening my calls?”

            “I would be if you ever left a message.”

            “Left a message? What are you, a hundred?” Dean scoffed. “Whatever. I didn’t call to fight with you. And this is at least twenty percent business so—”

            “What do you need?”

            Dean considered hanging up. He hated the obligatory note to Sam’s tone, the sigh he didn’t even have to let loose for Dean to know he was bothering him. Sam was a busy man who dealt with people like Dean all day long. People who wanted something from him, who wanted his skills, who bothered him with their petty scandals until he made them go away. Dean swallowed hard, wondering when the tables had turned and Sam had begun to take care of him.

            “Dean?”

            “Yeah.” He flipped to a new tab on his computer, something about supervised visitation and court orders. “I’m trying to work out a way Cas can see his kids soon and I cannot figure out this visitation bullshit. Like, what exactly qualifies as a supervisor?”

            “Depends on the agreement.” Papers shuffled across the line. Somewhere in the background, a static-filled radio played an old rock song. “It could mean a court-appointed supervisor who’s trained in child care but in Cas’ case, I think it just means that Kelly or another responsible adult she trusts has to be around. And I don’t think she’s very strict about it either.”

            “So if I was a trusted adult—”

            “Somehow I don’t think you count.”

            Dean licked his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

            A long silence followed and Dean tried to keep the crawling feeling off his skin. More papers shifted, some muffled words were exchanged, and the clicking of keyboard keys echoed across the line. After a minute, Sam said, “Sorry about that. Look, as far as I know, the biggest obstacle to Cas seeing his kids is time and location. He’s got a busy schedule, so does Kelly, and they’re currently living on opposite ends of the country. She gets all the holidays so—”

            “But Cas gets holidays off.”

            “Uh, yeah?”

            “What about Christmas? Would Kelly let us come down for Christmas?”

            Silence filled the line for a long moment but Dean didn’t think Sam was distracted. Sam sighed. “I don’t know. She’s a bit unpredictable as far as custody and Cas and her kids go. And I’m not a lawyer, Dean. I don’t know what all the legal crap is.”

            “But Jess would.”

            “If we could get a copy of the custody agreement—”

            “How hard would that be?”

            “Pretty hard. It’s sealed.”

            Dean cursed. He flipped over to a new tab, hoping for some sort of clue to jump out at him. But he’d read every article five times, some of them six. He could ask Cas for the papers but tell him what? If he failed, he didn’t want Cas to even know that he’d tried, to even know there was a chance. Despite himself, Dean yawned.

            “Have you been sleeping?”

            “Enough.”

            Sam sighed. “Look, it’s a crazy news cycle right now, but let me talk to Charlie and I’ll see if Jess can get anything from a legal perspective, contact Kelly maybe...” He trailed off for a moment, tapping his pen against the desk. Dean could hear every metallic clink. “Don’t tire yourself out over this. If there’s nothing we can do, there’s nothing we can do.”

            “It’s not a crime to do something nice for someone.”

            “I know. Just... you have this tendency to put your heart into things before you should.”

            Dean let the quiet fall as he mulled over those words. It was true. He’d loved Ben since the second he saw him, had bought Lisa an engagement ring a week into their relationship and never given it to her. He had put his whole heart and soul into becoming a rock star and almost had that pulled away from him too.

            “Well, let me know what you find. Thanks, Sam.” He hung up and dropped the phone onto the bench beside him. As he turned back to his laptop, he started to close the custody tabs and stifled another yawn.

            The charity tabs stayed open in front of him. He had found an organization that donated school supplies and animals to children in Africa, another which donated to endangered wildlife, and a quick Google search added a third that did nice things for children who were stuck in hospitals. He skimmed over the information on the sites but couldn’t make a decision.

            And he hadn’t ever picked up guitar picks or strings for Claire. He glanced at the time in the corner of the screen. It was late afternoon and, sure, he had some time to go out but the label also expected new songs by next week. And Dean had only pieces of songs so far.

            He rubbed his eyes as he glanced over at his abandoned guitar, then down the line to his others. Three sat neatly on stands but, at the end of the row, Ben’s guitar leaned up against the wall. Dean stared at it for a long moment. The front panel was scratched and Ben certainly would have outgrown the thing in a couple of years. But Claire was a slight thing with small fingers.

            Dean expected the thought to hurt. So much so that he felt his shields go up. But it didn’t. He pictured handing the guitar off to Claire, saw her playing a few chords to get into the rhythm of things, thought about telling her the story – how the guitar had been his, then Sam’s, then Ben’s. And now, it would be hers.

            He could restring it himself, polish it up, and add a couple of new picks to the mix as well. Claire might already have a guitar – hell, the girl had a motorcycle – but maybe she’d appreciate the history of this one. In the few hours he’d known her, she’d certainly seemed the type to cherish antiques more than their fancy new counterparts.

            A knock sounded on the studio door and Dean looked up. Cas stood on the other side of the glass, smiling just a little, and Dean gestured for him to enter. He’d forgotten that he closed the door at all.

            Cas entered and took a spot next to him on the bench. “Looks like you’re hard at work.”

            Dean glanced towards the open charity sites. “Just shopping for your kids.”

            Cas reached over him and flipped through the tabs. “With Jack, people are better than animals. And with the hospital one, he’d rather volunteer than offer money.” He flipped over to the volunteer tab, hit the button that let him email the link, and sent it to Jack.

            “You know that came from my account, right?”

            He shrugged and closed the tabs before leaning back against the panelled wall. He looked almost as tired as Dean felt.

            “There’s still glitter in your hair.” Dean reached to pick it out.

            Cas groaned without opening his eyes. “It’s been two days.”

            Leaning closer, Dean pressed a kiss to Cas’ cheek. “Don’t worry. I like it.”

            Cas turned his head to face him, their noses brushing together. His eyes blinked open, blue and wide and filled with fatigue. “Let’s get Jack one of those adopt-a-kid things for five cents a day. He’ll get the progress reports and be over the moon and I’m sure as soon as he gets a job, he’ll want to take over the payments himself.”

            Dean blinked at him. “Get as in get together?”

            He shrugged.

            “That really the best way to convince your kids that this is fake?”

            “If Claire thinks it’s bullshit, Jack isn’t far behind.”

            Dean stared at him for a very long time. He wondered if the sleep deprivation was getting to Cas, the nights up late and the stress of getting ready for his press tour and the TV pilot all at once. On the coffee table alone, Dean had seen five different revised scripts for the pilot, none of them remotely similar. He had tried to read the novel again to get a feel for the show but fell asleep halfway through the first chapter. But Cas’ eyes drooped now, filled with sparkle and wonder but still so tired. Dean reached out and rubbed a thumb along his jaw line.

            It would be so easy to kiss him. Just one movement, barely a lean, and their lips would be pressed together. But Dean found he’d rather memorize every line in Cas’ face and the crinkles around his eyes when he smiled. And that smile, even lazy and uneven, was the kind of thing Dean wanted to wake up to until he was bored of it.

            “Shouldn’t you be working?” Cas said, soft.

            “I wrote a song about you.”

            Cas raised an eyebrow, his smile curling higher. “Did you?”

            “Wanna hear it?”

            He nodded and pulled away.

            Dean resisted the urge to pull him right back, to keep their faces inches from each other until his eyes gave out. Instead, he got up and picked up his electric guitar. He sat down on the stool, flipped open to the right page in his notebook, and spent a few minutes tuning even though he’d just done it an hour ago. And the hour before that.

            “It’s not finished,” he said but he kept his back to Cas. His fingers trembled as he tried to put them into place, so he held the strings tight for a moment and forced himself to take a deep breath. It was just a song.

            He started playing without singing. He had the melody down, the loud, angry chords all in place, but hadn’t yet figured out the first verse. Behind him, Cas laughed and Dean could only imagine what he was thinking – an angry song deserved angry lyrics. Dean played into the hook, his voice cracking as he started to sing, _“I said, I said, I don’t really love you. You said, you said, you don’t really love me. Five words, three of ‘em true, never said again.”_

Now Cas laughed for real and Dean couldn’t help but turn around to look at him, to see the wide smile spreading across his face. He looked back down at his guitar almost immediately, feeling the blush rise to his cheeks, as he continued, _“I said, I said, let’s just be friends. You said, you said, add the benefits in.”_

            As the chorus came to a close, Dean played into what he had of the second verse and then let it trail off. He set the guitar to the side without looking up and scratched the back of his neck.

            Warm hands cupped his cheeks and, suddenly, Cas kissed him. Dean kissed him back, trying to lengthen the wet, warm pecks Cas laid on his skin but he had no luck. Cas stepped back with a big smile and said, “I love it.”

            “You don’t think it’s too obvious?”

            Cas shrugged. “Everyone will assume it’s about someone else or you didn’t write it.” He paused, pursing his lips, but the smile didn’t leave his eyes. “It kind of sounds like a hit single.”

            “We’ll see what the label thinks.”

            “It needs more lyrics.”

            “Obviously.”

            Cas’ jaw shifted to the side, his eyes going the other way, and Dean waited. He could see the wheels in his head turning, could almost watch his logic run away from him and the mischievous part of him pull through. That mischief was the part of Cas that Dean liked the most, the part of him that let loose and said screw you to the world. When Cas’ laces untied, Dean felt less alone in their not-relationship. He felt less like the screw up.

            “So, I had an idea a few days ago...” Cas began.

            “I like ideas.”

            Cas’ eyes flickered to his and lightning flashed across the blue. His grin pulled up on one side, _bad idea_ written across every line of his face.

            Before he could even say what it was, Dean said, “I’m in.”


	48. Chapter 48

Cas woke up to the buzzing of Dean’s phone against the coffee table. _The coffee table?_ Yes. He remembered. His back cracked as he tried to sit up on the couch and its springs squealed in protest. Dean’s weight pinned down his legs, the other man wrapped around his knees, his head just barely off his crotch. Yawning, Cas reached for the phone and saw Sam’s name.

            He answered it and, as soon as the speakerphone crackled on, he winced. His head pounded with the kind of bass he associated with trashy nightclubs and backstage at Dean’s concert. Closing his eyes, he tried to block out even the dregs of sunlight making their way under the pulled curtains. Thank god they had had the good sense to cover the windows.

            Although, Cas was more or less dressed. His boxers were still on and his shirt only halfway unbuttoned. As he glanced down at Dean, he saw he was only shirtless, with his jeans unbuttoned but not pulled off.

            “Dean?” Sam’s voice blared.

            Right. The thing about answering phone calls: you had to speak.

            Dean startled, waking with a curse already loudly on his lips. He tumbled off the couch – Cas tried to catch him, but failed – and landed heavily on the floor. He knocked his arm on the coffee table, swore again, and nearly knocked the phone to the floor in the process. Cas reached out to stop it from sliding, offered his other hand to Dean, and pulled him back up onto the couch.

            “Do you answer phones in your sleep now?” Sam asked.

            “No,” Dean grumbled but he shot a look at Cas that was half annoyance, half amusement. “What do you want? It’s like... six a.m.”

            “It’s nearly noon.”

            Dean looked his way again and Cas shrugged.

            With a sigh, Sam said, “I am looking at not one, not two, but _seven_ different articles from seven different gossip sites claiming that the two of you had, and I quote, ‘loud, verging on violent, sex in a public bathroom.’”

            Cas felt his whole face go red. He had never been happier to have a publicist that lived in New York. As he glanced at Dean, he saw him licking his lips and trying not to laugh. Cas hit him in the arm. Dean smiled at him, his cheeks bulging out with only the slightest hint of redness.

            “We did not do that,” Dean said, sounding surprisingly honest.

            Sam kept reading. “ _Late last night, patrons of the technology-free cafe,_ Birth of Conversation, _reported that Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester entered the establishment, ordered one small black coffee, and then proceeded towards the bathroom. Shortly after, grunts and moans, as well as the shaking of metal doors, echoed through the shop loud enough for everyone to hear._ ”

            Cas buried his face in his hands. Dean reached out to rub his back in soothing circles as he said, “A technology-free cafe? Really?”

            “Yes, really.”

            “Sounds like bullshit to me. No pictures, no video, no proof? Why the fuck are you even calling me?”

            “Because, when I reply to rumours like this, I like to have all the information,” Sam snapped. Cas winced at the harshness in his voice but Dean just sighed. He continued, “And, as I’m sure you know, a technology-free establishment is one of the only ways for you to take up the mantle of your bad boy reputation while also evading the kind of scandal that a sex tape would bring.”

            “I did not know that.”

            “I don’t doubt that. But I bet Cas knew it.”

            Cas shot Dean a sharp look, which he avoided by scratching the back of his neck and staring blankly at the phone screen.

            “Dean?”

            “Look, I don’t know what to tell you,” Dean said. “I didn’t fuck Cas in some public bathroom of a technophobe cafe.”

            “Did you fuck someone else?”

            “Are you kidding me?”

            Sam sighed. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll deal with it.” The call cut off.

            “You told your brother?” Cas said, finally letting himself breathe. He stared at Dean incredulously, parts of his body shaking that he didn’t know could shake. He wasn’t sure if that was anger, shock, or a side effect of the massive hangover.

            “I didn’t tell him. He guessed.”

            Cas let out a heavy sigh and hung his head. Then, when the worst of the pounding between his ears had passed, he reached out for his phone. He winced when it came to life but quickly opened up some of the articles. All of them were more or less the same, cobbled together from witness accounts, dramatic writing, and a small summary of their relationship. Sam would be able to clean it all up easily – after all, there was no proof – and it seemed to have re-cemented Dean’s bad boy image. Already, several sites were tripping over themselves to be the first to call Dean a “bad influence.”

            Belatedly, he realized Dean had left the room. And turned on the TV. And pulled one of the blinds halfway up, just far enough to see the photographers milling outside the house again. Cas couldn’t decide how he felt about that. On one hand, he’d liked having the house to themselves for the past few days and not worrying that stepping outside would become a news story. But on the other hand, the photographers being back meant that in one night Dean had regained his reputation as a walking scandal. And they hadn’t even done anything likely to get him fired.

            Well, they _had_ but there was no proof.

            Cas forced himself to stand up and start brewing coffee. Up stairs, he heard the shower running and half thought about joining Dean before deciding coffee was more important than sex. He opened the junk drawer, got the Advil, and popped three of them, swallowing them dry. Then he stared at the coffee machine, wondering if a watched coffee pot never brewed.

            Dean came down wet but fully dressed and pulled the coffee pot out before the machine had finished, splattering coffee all over the counter. Cas couldn’t find it in himself to protest, especially once Dean had poured him a mug. Even piping hot and black, Cas glugged down half of it before ever putting the mug down.

            “You got the contracts this afternoon.” Dean slid his phone across the counter too. That must have been the buzzing Cas was hearing. Good to know it was outside his head.

            He glanced down at the three reminder texts from Charlie, including a reminder that she was sending a car at 12:30. Cas glanced at the clock. He kissed Dean on the cheek, took his coffee, and headed upstairs to take a quick shower. He dressed a little better than he usually did – tighter jeans than normal, a button-up with a subtle pattern, just to give the producers the idea that he could easily pull off the role of Mason Haverford. He still had his doubts about that.

            After slurping down the rest of his coffee, he brushed his teeth and made his way back downstairs with a minute to spare. He shoved his wallet and keys into his pockets. Dean wrapped an arm around his waist, opened the front door, and kissed him goodbye just as the cameras started to flash. Then he shoved him out onto the front step and slammed the door behind him.

            Shaking his head and smiling a little, Cas headed down the front walk. Reporters screamed at him, making his headache worse, and cameras flashed brightly in his eyes. He slipped into the backseat of the car and promptly doubled over, closing his eyes tight. When the driver prompted him, he sat up and put his seatbelt on. Then he buried his face back in his hands.

            “Can we stop for coffee?” he asked.

            Armed with more coffee and a half-eaten croissant, Cas met Charlie in the lobby of a stately office building. She immediately wiped the chocolate off his face and took the croissant. As she started brushing crumbs off his shirt, she said, “Is it really so much to ask that you show up presentable?”

            “Can you speak quieter?” Cas squinted against the bright fluorescents.

            “And you’re hungover. Awesome.” She turned on her heel and started towards the elevators.

            He considered not following her. After all, he knew the exact lecture she was going to give him. He could give it himself at this point. She would tell him Dean’s a bad influence on him. She’d warn him not to get caught up in Dean’s lifestyle. She’d remind him of his kids, his life, the reputation he had to uphold. And, if he was very unlucky, which he was pretty sure was a given, she’d ask about the bathroom sex and reiterate that she’d pull him if she had to.

            He followed her anyways.

            His luck held. The meeting was only on the third floor and Charlie barely had time to berate him for showing up to an important meeting hungover before the doors opened again. They walked silently across the linoleum floors towards a male receptionist in a neat blue suit. He greeted them by name, shook both their hands, and then led them deeper into the offices.

            They turned three times before coming to a corner office that, on a higher floor, would have had a lovely view. Cas was still impressed. A light wood desk sat at the end of the room with a high-backed white chair behind it. The rest of the room was lined with either windows or glass bookcases. Awards hung on the walls. Two chairs sat opposite the desk and, further away, a small conference table sat surrounded by comfortable chairs.

            A woman with a short pink bob stood up from the desk and approached. She shook both their hands, saying, “What a pleasure it is to meet you two. I’m Laura Jameson, the studio lawyer assigned to this project. I’m going to go over the contracts with you today, answer any questions you might have about the show, and then you’ll have two weeks to have your own lawyer look everything over. Has Ivan offered you something to drink?”

            Ivan scrambled over himself to correct his mistake. Cas asked for more coffee, even though he still had half a cup in his hand, and Charlie’s smile strained. They took the seats across the desk from Laura and she pulled out a large file folder. From within it, she pulled three stapled contracts and offered one to each of them. She took the last one herself and pulled a highlighter out of another drawer.

            The contract seemed pretty standard to Cas. There were a couple of things he noticed that were different between television and film but he let Charlie take the lead on that, since he knew she had worked with television actors before. He felt a stone settle into his stomach when they got to the part that said he’d only be given the role if he had a satisfactory screen test. Apparently skipping the audition process did not mean skipping casting director approval. But he kept his mouth shut. He was a professional and he’d lose the role to a screen test if he had to.

            Charlie asked for a little more time to sign the contract and Laura agreed as long as Cas had his screen test within the extra week. They left to another round of handshakes and Cas felt his fingers start to tremble. Three cups of coffee within two hours suddenly didn’t seem like the best idea he’d ever had.

            Leaving the office made Cas tense again. The caffeine overdose didn’t help. He tried to form arguments that might get Charlie off his back – the fact that _of course_ they had staged something crazy to help Dean and he had talked to her about that possibility, the argument that he hadn’t had any fun in years before Dean so maybe she should cut him some slack, and the last ditch resort of making her too angry to speak to him by reminding her that she was technically his employee – but he was saved from an awkward ride home when he saw two cars waiting on the curb. Charlie bid him farewell and got into her own car. Cas only stared after her for a second before slipping into his own.

            A few minutes later, his phone rang. _Claire_. “Hey, honey,” Cas said. “Shouldn’t you still be in class?”

            “Learn your time zones, dad.” She sighed. “I just called to tell you you’re ruining my life.”

            Cas hummed in response as he watched the city blur by his window. Even cold and windy, the sun was out, spilling golden light across the pavement. Palm trees bent in the breeze as a handful of people walked by, already huddled in winter coats. Cas hadn’t even bothered with a jacket yet – L.A. had nothing on Michigan. “And how exactly am I doing that from so far away?”

            “Are you kidding?”

            Cas swore he heard an edge of Dean’s attitude in her voice but he shook off the thought. Dean hadn’t spent enough time with her to irreparably damage her attitude. “I’m not kidding,” Cas said. “Do you have an actual complaint or are you just being a teenager?”

            “I don’t know. Is it an actual complaint that my dad ended up in the news for having sex in a public bathroom?”

            Cas almost laughed. A flush of embarrassment ran through him but, like any good dad, embarrassing his child was always more entertaining to him than embarrassing himself. “I’m sorry,” he said. “How would you like me to stop people from making up ridiculous rumours about me and then selling their false stories to gossip rags?”

            Claire groaned. He could almost hear her eye roll. “It’s more than that. We’re doing a presentation in health about influential figures in our lives and some asshole chose _you_. I had to sit there while some guy I barely know did a presentation on _my dad_.”

            Cas stayed quiet.

            “Plus, all my friends follow you on Instagram. They think you’re hot. It’s gross.”

            He couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’m sorry, honey. I know it’s tough having parents who are in the public eye.”

            “I just...” She sighed.

            The car approached Dean’s house and Cas pulled away from the phone to ask the driver to circle the block so he could finish the call. He doubted pulling Claire through the throngs of reporters on his front lawn would help convince her of anything.

            “You used to be like, medium famous. It was easier then.”

            “I know.”

            “But I guess I’m happy you’re popular or whatever.”

            Cas smiled a little. “I never heard a peep out of you when your mom and I divorced. But I know that was hard on you. It had to be.” He licked his lips. “I still remember all that shit I caught for punching that reporter who ambushed you outside the school.”

            “That was pretty badass.”

            “Here’s the thing, Claire. I can’t stop your friends from following me on Instagram or idiots in your class from thinking I’m inspiring. I wish I could.” He glanced ahead to see the house coming into view again. “But I won’t ever let things get out of hand like that again, okay? You’re off limits. And you’re safe. Your mom will make sure of that if I can’t.”

            “I’m more worried about you.”

            “Me?”

            Claire took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It was a trash fire when you and mom got divorced. But I’ve never seen you look so tired as when you were surrounded by paparazzi twenty-four-seven. I know you don’t like the attention.”

            Cas chuckled. “What did I do to deserve two kids that worry about me more than I worry about them?”

            “You raised a badass and a saint.”

            “Aren’t I lucky.”

            “I love you, dad. Call Jack.”

            “Is he okay?”

            “He’s... himself.”

            Cas felt his smile waver just a little. He knew his kids weren’t as close as they could be. They were very different people and that was okay. As long as Claire would kill for Jack and Jack would defend his big sister tooth and nail, Cas was happy. But sometimes he wished they understood each other better and that he could take some comfort in them being able to confide in each other.

            “I love you too,” he said. “Talk soon, sweetie.”

            He hung up and pushed through the throngs of reporters. One of them must have got a pretty good shot of him laughing when someone shouted, “What’s it like to sleep with Dean Winchester?” He almost hoped there was video of it.

            The living room was empty. Cas heard no sound apart from the clamour outside and the house settling. Instead of searching for Dean, figuring he was probably in the studio, he flopped down on the couch and called Jack. Jack promptly answered, told him he was in the middle of tutoring, and asked if he could call him back. So Cas turned on the TV and started to scroll through the pictures on his phone.

            One, from a few days ago, was a picture he’d taken of Dean bent over his guitar. Cas uploaded it to the Instagram with the caption: _love it when my bf’s hard at work._ He stared at the picture for a few seconds as it collected likes, then turned his attention back to the TV, feeling everything fall into place for the first time in a long time.


	49. Chapter 49

Playing guitar in front of the label heads always felt harder, like there was a new weight to the strings and his fingers had stopped working. It was the main reason Dean didn’t tend to look up while he was playing. Chuck had told him the marketing team was stopping by to hear the potential new single and to be ready to answer questions about the other tracks on the album, but Dean had mostly ignored him in favour of getting the tracks down on tape.

            As he strummed out the new chords, he sang, “ _There’s an angel on my shoulder, saying things I don’t want to hear. There’s an angel on my shoulder, saying the devil’s in my ear.”_ He amped up his playing, going faster and letting the sound crescendo. “ _Five days ago, I would have brushed that angel off. Heaven’s a no go and hell’s just so far off.”_

            He broke towards the chorus just as the microphone crackled to life. Dean stopped playing and trapped the strings under his fingers as he looked up to see Chuck, the producer, and several label heads crowded in the sound booth.

            “That sounds great, Dean,” Chuck said. “But let’s give these busy people a taste of that new single, okay?”

            Dean nodded and looked back at the guitar. When he loosened his grip, his fingers shook. But he repositioned them for the song and tried to get back into his own head. Closing his eyes, he pictured himself in his home studio with Cas sitting just behind him. A smile cracked over Dean’s lips as he tested out the chord.

            Then, he slipped right into the song. _“We broke down the doors, first night out. Met you downtown, you let your wild side out. Never expected that kind of kiss. Tongue down my throat, hands at my hips. Tequila in my veins. Words stolen from my lips._

_“And I said, I said, I don’t really love you. You said, you said, you don’t really love me too. Five words, three of ‘em true, never said again. I said, I said, let’s just be friends. You said, you said, add the benefits in. And I’m drowning, drowning, in your kiss.”_

A sharp burst of applause cut Dean off as he blinked back to reality, the last chord getting away from him and ending on a sour note. None of the executives seemed to notice though as their bright smiles beamed back at him. For a few minutes, Chuck chatted with them as the producer gave Dean a few notes on the other song they were working on. Dean tried to nod along, but half his attention was on Chuck handing out tapes.

            When the door shut behind the executives, the producer said, “You ready to get back to _Hell’s Far Off_?”

            Dean looked at Chuck through the glass. “Did you give them our rough tracks?”

            Chuck sighed. “They want the record out before the end of next year. They need to know what they’re marketing. And after that stunt last week, they’re still worried you might be a liability.”

            Closing his eyes, Dean swallowed back his protests. The label owned his music, technically, and they could hear it whenever they wanted. So arguing with Chuck would get him nowhere and waste his studio time. When he opened his eyes again, he focused on the producer and said, “From the top?”

            The producer nodded and Dean started to play again.

            He had spent a lot of time recording and writing in the last week. His life consisted of work, Cas, and trying to navigate the legal quagmire that was Cas’ custody agreement. At the very least, songs seemed to be flowing out of him. Another week like this and he’d have enough for a whole album. Give him an additional three days of inspiration after that and he’d have bonus tracks too, perhaps even a secret track to add to mix. But he didn’t want to get ahead of himself – as easily as inspiration hit, it dropped out of existence just as fast.

            For a few more hours, he tweaked the songs according to his producer’s wishes and then stepped out of the studio to help re-master them. He hung around for longer than he needed too, only leaving when Chuck told him there were some fans outside hoping for his autograph. Dean slipped on his sunglasses and headed for the lobby.

            Camera flashes surrounded him as soon as he stepped off the elevator. Even as he faked a smile, he whispered to Chuck, “I thought they weren’t allowed in the building?”

            “Mr. Roman made an exception for today.”

            “Dick.” Then Dean slipped seamlessly into meet-and-greet mode. None of his nervousness followed him. Impromptu fan meets were like that. He rarely had the time to get scared so he didn’t. As long as he didn’t think about it, he could sink into the circle of screaming girls and sign whatever they shoved at him. Today, it was a lot of CDs, posters, and the odd forearm.

            After ten minutes, Chuck apologized to a crowd and shoved Dean through the mass of people out onto the street. They slipped into a waiting town car and Dean let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. The world seemed to slip back into place suddenly, colours becoming brighter and his hand cramping around the sharpie. He dropped it on the car floor.

            “You okay?”

            Dean nodded. As the panic receded, it almost became worse. In the moment, Dean had thought he was doing fine. He had signed his name and joked and laughed and even remembered names. But as the car sped away, he realized he’d barely been in his body and had little to no memory of the whole ten minutes that had just passed.

            “I can get you anti-anxiety meds again,” Chuck said, as calmly and simply as he’d offer to get Dean a coffee.

            Dean chewed on his bottom lip. “Yeah, maybe.” And the conversation ended, just like that. Half of Dean was relieved – he never liked talking to Chuck about those things – but half of him wanted to open his mouth and say something more. Part of him wanted to talk about it, to suggest he actually go talk to someone this time, make a bigger deal out of it than he normally did. But instead he swallowed it all down. He knew what Chuck would say. If he wanted to get real help, he’d need a publicist in his corner. And no way in hell was Dean going to sit down with Sam and explain the panic that overtook him whenever he entered a large crowd.

            Chuck made the car turn onto the street before Dean’s and come to a stop at the back of the property. Dean looked up at his giant glass house, perched on a small incline, and wondered if Cas had been right. It was dramatic and stupid to have a glass house as a celebrity. Part of him missed the townhouse he’d kept in Kansas, the life he’d always thought he’d be leading. Part of him considered asking Cas to move there with him, to uproot his whole life and go into hiding. They could be those celebrities that just suddenly vanished from the public eye never to be heard from again. Or they could fake their own deaths. Whatever Cas wanted.

            Chuck touched his shoulder. “We can get you a real security team, you know. People to help you get around the photographers in a more professional capacity.”

            Dean shook his head. “I just got used to the silence. I’ll be fine.”

            He slipped out of the car, hopped his own fence, and made his way up the hill. The dying brown grass crunched under his boots as the orange trees bowed towards him in the wind. He zipped up his jacket as he walked, his thighs burning up the incline. He made a mental note to get Chuck to call his personal trainer to get him back in shape before they had to shoot the album cover. A million things he had to do swirled through his head as he stepped through the back door.

            The basement was cold but warmer than outside. Dean kicked off his boots before making his way across the worn carpet but he stopped at the foot of the stairs when his phone rang. His heart picked up pace when he saw the blocked number. As a rule, he never answered blocked numbers – too often reporters had them to get a sound bite from him – but he’d been making a lot of calls to a lot of legal clinics lately and any of them could call back at any second.

            “Hello?” He braced himself.

            “Dean?”

            He waited for more.

            The woman on the other end of the line sighed. “I’m not trying to get you to say something dumb nor am I recording the call, if that’s what you’re worried about.” She paused. “It’s Kelly. Kelly Kline.”

            Dean felt the air go out of him. He sat down on the bottom step. “Hey, Kelly.” He tried to sound calm but his throat had gone dry. “Why are you calling?”

            “My people told me that Dean Winchester is poking around my custody agreement.”

            “Sorry about that.”

            “You’re not.” She sounded more impressed than annoyed.

            Dean could almost picture her on the other end. He thought of her standing in her kitchen on a landline. She seemed the type. Cold and confident, a good mother and just a bit of a wild child. A female CEO. Even just from the calm cadence of her voice, Dean could see what Cas had seen in her, why he’d loved her before she’d become the mother of his children.

            “I don’t appreciate people going behind my back,” she said. “If you wanted to know about our custody agreement or our children’s lives or anything else, you should have called me directly. Or, better yet, why not ask the man you’re living with?”

            “I didn’t want to get his hopes up.”

            “And what have you found?”

            Dean shrugged. “Nothing. You get to control when Cas sees his kids. It’s all you.”

            “So why not call?”

            “I don’t trust you.”

            Kelly sighed heavily. “I understand. You know Cas, not me. And I doubt he has many good things to say about me.”

            Dean bit his tongue. Agreeing would be a lie she didn’t deserve. But telling her the truth, that her ex-husband had nothing but respect and love for her, seemed like a betrayal of Cas. There were no words that didn’t hurt her but also kept Cas’ dignity intact. So he hedged his response with, “I just know he wants to see his kids. And they want to see him.”

            “I know.” She paused for a long moment and, when she spoke again, it was punctuated with a sniffle. “I’m not a monster, Dean. And you were good with Claire when she showed up at your concert. So I’ll give you what you want.”

            “Cas can see his kids?”

            “Yes. Soon.” She sniffed again. “What about Christmas?”

            “Christmas?”

            “The two of you can fly down to Orlando, stay in the house – god knows it’s too big for the three of us – and we’ll do Christmas as a big family. I know the kids would like it.” She paused.  “I would like it.”

            Dean said nothing for a long moment. Then, he stammered, “I’m not... we’re not...”

            “Maybe not for you,” she said, “but I know Cas pretty well.”

            He swallowed hard. “Thank you, Kelly. This’ll mean a lot to him.”

            “We’ll work out the dates later. Bye, Dean.”

            He hung up without another word and held the phone close to his heart for a moment. As the reality of the moment dawned on him, a smile slipped onto his lips. Then he started to laugh. Only once he got control of himself did he get to his feet and make his way upstairs. He walked down the hall and into the living room, unable to wipe the smile off his face.

            Cas sat in his usual spot on the couch, the TV turned to some dumb home renovation show. He turned his head when he heard Dean’s approach, his expression going quizzical as he saw the broad grin on Dean’s face. “Why are you so happy?”

            “I have good news.”

            “Do tell.”

            Dean took a deep breath. He wanted to memorize every part of this moment – Cas staring at him with curious eyes, his phone still clutched in his hand, the dreary weather outside – and then he said, “Kelly invited us to Orlando for Christmas.”

            “What?”

            “I just got off the phone with her. She wants us to spend Christmas with her and the kids in—”

            Dean cut himself off as Cas leaped over the back of the couch and slammed into him. Dean laughed as he hit the wall, Cas’ lips already pressing up against his, his fingers scrambling over the buttons of Dean’s shirt. Dean tried to kiss him back but it was hard between the laughter and the sudden flurry of attention.

            “What are you doing?” he managed.

            “Taking off your clothes.”

            “I got that.” Dean grabbed Cas by the shoulders and held him off for just a second. He looked breathless, flushed already, and his eyes sparkled with happiness and unshed tears. “Why?”

            “To thank you.” Cas laughed. “I can’t believe you’d... I mean, you got Kelly to let us come down for Christmas. To see the kids. I... There aren’t words for how grateful I am. So I just need you to take off your clothes really fast so that I can show you how grateful I am.”

            Dean laughed too. “That’s not necessary.”

            “It is.” Cas kissed him again, softer. He broke out of it by leaning their foreheads together, his breath puffing over Dean’s face. “You’re the reason for everything good in my life.” He cupped Dean’s face in his hands. “Let me be something good in yours.”

            “You already are.”

            They descended into softer, longer kisses. Slowly, Cas started to pull at his clothes again and Dean relented. He let his shirt fall from his shoulders and didn’t protest when Cas started on his belt buckle. He bit at Dean’s neck, no doubt leaving marks Dean would have trouble explaining to anyone who bothered to ask. Dean carded his fingers through Cas’ hair, letting his eyes fall closed as Cas kissed his way down his chest and dropped to his knees.

            Just as warm breath ghosted over his cock, Dean heard the front door unlock. He opened one eye and, too slow, started to say, “Cas, I think—”

            The door opened and Charlie stepped into the room. Dean tried to react fast enough, tried to pull Cas up off the floor, but Charlie’s eyes found them all too quick. She dropped her bag on the floor. “What. The. Fuck.”


	50. Chapter 50

Cas tried to delay meeting Charlie in the kitchen for as long as possible. But the truth of the matter was, with his clothes still on and Dean’s dick barely out, there was very little too do before he could join her. He rose to his feet, wiped his lips, and looked at Dean for a long moment. Dean stared back at him with an unreadable expression.

            Cas had no words. He squeezed Dean’s shoulder, hoping the simple gesture could impart everything he didn’t know how to say – he wouldn’t leave him, Charlie wasn’t the boss of him, things could have gone way worse – and turned towards the kitchen. He brushed a hand through his hair before stepping through the doorway and then crossed his arms against his chest.

            Charlie stood at the other end of the room facing the windows. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun and she hadn’t taken off her heavy army jacket. Cas cleared his throat but she didn’t move, didn’t so much as sway to indicate she’d heard him. Sighing, he stepped further into the room.

            “You can take off your coat,” he said. He pulled a stool back from the counter and turned it around before sitting. He stared at her back. “Or sit down. I could make coffee?”

            She held up a hand, asking for silence, and he gave it to her. He looked down at his fingers as he waited, the quiet stretching from tense to awkward to simply boring much too fast. Once again, he wished he had more experience with principal’s offices and police officers who wanted to give him one last warning. He felt more comfortable in the hot seat now than he had three months ago but he still had a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach telling him that good boys didn’t get into this kind of trouble.

            He wondered if Dean had walked away or simply settled in to the living room to wait. He hoped he’d disappeared upstairs or into his studio. Either option would keep him out of hearing range of the insults Charlie was likely to hurl, the words and reasoning she would use to pull Cas away from him. But Cas already knew it wasn’t going to work. Maybe it would have worked a week ago. Or before Thanksgiving. But not now.

            “Are you hungry?” Cas asked, tired of the quiet that wasn’t really quiet. If he listened hard enough, he could hear the photographers in the front lawn who had settled down by the curb to chat and eat their sandwiches. Wind whistled through the cracks in the insulation. The house settled with a series of creaks that made it seem much older than it probably was. And, if Cas really focused, he could hear the notes of Dean’s guitar through the shoddy sound-proofing job on his studio. At least he wouldn’t be able to hear Charlie.

            “You seem to be under the impression that this is going to be a friendly conversation.” Her voice was ice cold and each word was said with a weight behind it. Slowly, she turned to face Cas. She looked tired, more tired than he’d ever seen her, and she shook with anger. “It will not be.”

            “Charlie—”

            “How long, Cas?”

            Cas swallowed all the patient words he’d practiced and shrugged. “Since the sexual tension rumours started to wind down.”

            “So you got rid of those by having sex?”

            He shrugged again.

            “Why would you do that? Is he really so irresistible?” She licked her lips and took a step forward. “I know there are just hundreds of teenage girls in the world who would jump at the chance to fuck him, but as a fully grown adult man, do you really not have more self-control? Did he really just have to bat his damn eyelashes and tell you it would get the tabloids off your ass for you to tumble into bed with him?”

            “It was my idea.”

            She stared at him blankly.

            “I suggested—”

            She held up a hand to stop him. Anger and sadness roiled through her green eyes as she took a moment to process that statement. “How dumb are you?” The words were angry but her voice had weakened, fallen to almost a whisper. “Before this started, you begged me to keep you from doing exactly this. You asked me to pull you if you had your head too far up your damn ass to see the truth. And then you just go and throw it all away without even a halfway decent excuse and don’t tell me.”

            Cas watched her as she turned away. “Is that why you’re angry? Because I didn’t tell you?”

            “I can’t protect you if you don’t tell me things!” She whirled back on him. “This has been going on for months now and I haven’t been able to do a damn thing about it because you didn’t tell me. You didn’t tell me the truth, Cas. And now look where the fuck we are.”

            “I didn’t want you to do anything about it.”

            “Of course you didn’t. But I have to. You get that, don’t you?”

            “No.”

            “You _begged_ me not to let this happen again.”

            Cas shook his head and felt his own anger rear up to meet hers. He wasn’t a little kid in the principal’s office. She’d said it herself, he was a grown ass man. “This isn’t the same,” he said. “Dean isn’t Kelly.”

            “It’s exactly the same. You are falling in love with him inside a bubble of a relationship. You’re pretending that all this fake crap that brought you together, all the bullshit love confessions and staged kisses, actually meant something. You’ve convinced yourself that you’re in a real relationship and not inside some dumb improv game to improve your marketability.”

            “It is real.”

            “It’s not! It’s not real.” Charlie stepped right up to him, her eyes darting across his face as he ground his teeth together. “You wanna know how this ends? I’ll tell you. Dean does something stupid and breaks your heart. The tabloids splash your picture all over the front page as a cuckolded bastard. Again. Except, this time, they’re not on your side. Because you were stupid enough to believe that a fuckboy like Dean Winchester loved you.”

            “Shut up.”

            “This is what happened with Kelly. You thought it was real. You thought she loved you. She didn’t.” She poked Cas in the chest. “If you want to do that again, if you want to throw more of your life away, write off good years for another bullshit affair that will shatter your heart, you go right the fuck ahead!”

            “Kelly wasn’t a write off.” Cas stood and stared Charlie down. “We were together for fourteen years. That’s not a write off in my book.”

            “Well, here’s to another fourteen years.” She stepped back and tried to move around him.

            Cas grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop. “What do you want me to say? That I broke my own rule? That, exactly like I said I didn’t want to, I fell in love with him? Because it’s all true, Charlie. You’re right. I did this to myself but that doesn’t change anything.”

            “He’s gonna kill you.” Her voice broke. Her eyes were wide and teary. “Of all the people in the world you could give your heart to, you choose him? You know who he is. You know what he’s done. He will destroy you, destroy your reputation, ruin all hope that you’ll ever get your kids back... and for what? A couple months of mind-blowing sex? He’s a player and an addict and just generally a dumpster fire of a human being. And you would give up everything good in your life for him?”

            He could argue with her for hours, tell her that Dean was the one who had just gotten him his kids back, but it would do no good. He swallowed hard and let her go. “You’re right, Charlie. I know him. You don’t.”

            “You really think you know what you’re doing, don’t you?”

            He nodded.

            For a second, she closed her eyes and Cas worried she was getting ready for round two. Then she turned away and walked out of the kitchen. He followed her to the front door but she let herself out, tears streaming down her cheeks. As it closed behind her, Cas felt his heart sink into his feet. He flipped the deadbolt into place.

            Then he turned down the hall and headed for the studio. He flopped down into the chair by the sound board, barely catching sight of Dean inside before dropping his head into his arms. As he started to cry, he felt strong hands massaging his shoulders and the brush of lips against the top of his head.


	51. Chapter 51

As the plane landed, Dean turned his phone back on and watched the notifications flood in. Pictures of him in LAX scattered across his news feed, the ten second video of him working in the studio had gotten over a million likes, and a hoard of homophobes had started up about how Christmas was a holiday for traditional families in response to a photo he’d posted of him and Cas with Santa hats on. Dean pocketed his phone and looked over at Cas.

            Cas’s fingers flew over the keyboard as the plane taxied towards the gate. Dean poked him in the arm which he responded to with a distracted hum.

            “Tell me you’re not lobbing insults at internet trolls.”

            Cas snorted. “No. I just reported all of them.” He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, a tired smile gracing his lips. “We sent the studio my screen test today so I’m just checking if Charlie’s heard anything yet.”

            “She’s still handling that?”

            “She’s still my agent.” Cas said the words sharply. Dean eyes widened but then Cas reached out and intertwined their fingers. “Sorry. I just mean, she’s still working for me. She’s angry but she’s a professional. She’ll deal with it.”

            “It’s weird that Chuck’s the only one who doesn’t know about this.”

            “Should you tell him?”

            Dean shrugged. “I’ll deal with it later.” The seatbelt sign dinged off and Dean got to his feet. He handed the bags from the overhead bin down to Cas and then headed towards the front of the plane. He had been to the Orlando airport a thousand times before but slowed his steps towards the baggage claim as Cas looked around, a little lost, seemingly cataloguing every change since the last time he’d been there.

            Only when his wide-eyed stares started to trip up other travellers did Dean take his hand and tug him towards the escalators. Cas gripped his fingers a little too tight. “You know it’s going to be all right,” Dean said, keeping his voice soft. He smiled when Cas looked up at him. “This is your family. There’s nothing to worry about.”

            Cas visibly relaxed, the tension going out of his shoulders, the edges of his smile no longer straining. Even his grip on Dean’s hand loosened. They entered the baggage claim area to see a milling mass of a dozen or so people waiting for family members to emerge for the Christmas holidays. Dean scanned the crowd for Kelly but couldn’t spot her. Cas dragged him around the crowd of hugs and well-wishers, heading towards the baggage carousels.

            When they passed the third one, Dean almost said something. He wanted to apologize for making Cas come all the way here when Kelly didn’t even show. He wanted to reassure Cas that they had probably just gotten stuck in traffic or messed up the flight time. Before he could open his mouth though, his arm was nearly tugged out of its socket as a boy leaped into Cas’ arms.

            Dean dropped Cas’ hand as Cas reached his arms around the teenager. It took only seconds for Dean to figure out the boy was Jack. If not for the flying hug, he would have realized it from the shape of his face and the brilliance of his smile. Even his blue eyes spoke of Cas and his hair stuck up in the same way, even though he’d tried to gel it down.

            “Seems excessive, doesn’t it?”

            Dean looked over to see Claire standing beside him with her arms crossed. He smiled. “Long time, no see, kiddo.”

            “Don’t call me that.” Her tone was harsh but a smile itched at her lips. “Just so you know, I’m not the difficult one to impress. That’s him.”

            He raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

            She nodded. For a moment longer, she watched her father and brother embrace, then she stepped forward and hugged them both. They opened their hug easily, pulling her in, laughing. Cas kissed the tops of both of their heads, even though Claire tried to squirm away. Cas rested his head on top of hers and looked at Dean. His smile was brighter than Dean had ever seen it, even though there were tears in his eyes. He mouthed, “Thank you.”

            Dean gave him an awkward salute and walked over to the correct baggage carousel. The thing had started to move with the usual creaks and groans. People shuffled closer to the blue line. Unsurprisingly, when the bags started to pop out, they were an indistinguishable mass of blue and grey and black. Dean kept his eyes open for the band stickers he’d plastered on top of his and the pink ribbon Cas had tied on his.

            They popped out fast – the perks of First Class – and Dean grabbed them easily. He rolled them out of the pushing crowd and scanned the waiting families for Cas and the kids. It took him a little longer than it might have because he’d expected them to still be hugging in the same place. Instead, they were seated at a Starbucks not too far from the baggage carousels.

            Dean approached, feeling suddenly out of place. He slowed his pace as he heard their laughter, watched the chatter fly off their lips. Then Cas looked up at him with a wide smile. Dean took the empty chair he kicked out and Cas leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. “Thanks for getting the bags.”

            “No problem.” Dean thought he was maybe smiling too much, that maybe Cas’ face was too close to his.

            Claire cleared her throat. “Can you please refrain from being gross in front of us?”

            Dean pulled away.

            “Don’t be like that,” Jack chided. “Love is a beautiful thing.”

            Dean blinked at him, then turned to Cas to try to judge how he should respond. But Cas simply bit down on his smile and sipped at his coffee. Dean turned back to Jack and offered his hand. “Don’t think we’ve officially met yet. I’m Dean, your dad’s...” He trailed off awkwardly.

            “Boyfriend,” Cas supplied, the way he might teach a first grader to pronounce a word.

            Dean glanced at him momentarily but, before he could read his expression, Jack shook his hand heartily. He wrapped his hand in both of his own, holding it more than shaking it, and beamed with a brilliant smile. “I’m so happy to finally meet you, Dean. I’m Jack. Welcome to the family.”

            If Dean had had even a sip of his coffee, he was sure he would have choked on it. As it was, he just barely managed to not choke on his own spit, mumble something awkward, and pull out of Jack’s enthusiastic grasp. Without skipping a beat, they fell back into their conversation, Claire starting up with an argument about how physics would never help her in university and Jack jumping in with random facts to dispute her point. Rather than reining in the argument, Cas looked amusedly between the two of them, just letting them talk.

            They sat there until the coffee was finished and they started getting odd looks from the security personnel. Dean reached for the bags as he rose but Jack beat him to them, pulling away with confident steps as he walked towards the parking lot. Claire let out a sigh that sounded a lot like, “Ass kisser.” She knocked her hip into her brother’s and took one of the bags as he stumbled.

            Cas intertwined their fingers again as they headed after the kids. Dean looked at him for a long moment, memorizing the planes of his face, trying to decipher exactly what was different. He’d thought he’d seen Cas happy before. He thought he’d made him happy. But now he knew that whatever he’d considered Cas’ happiness was just a pale shadow compared to what he was experiencing now. His smile seemed more natural. His eyes sparkled with almost no effort. He watched his children walk ahead of him like he might watch a Broadway musical or an Oscar-winning movie. Then, he turned all the happiness and joy on Dean without dialing it down even a notch.

            Dean felt like his heart might explode.

            “Really, thank you.”

            “You said that already.”

            Cas shook his head, looking like he might cry. “I can’t say it enough.”

            Dean wanted to kiss him but they were walking and he knew they’d lose the kids if he tried. So he settled for a smile, blinking back the tears threatening to fill his eyes. “You can thank me without words later,” he tried but the joke fell flat on his lips.

            Cas laughed anyways.

            As they entered the cold parking garage, concrete walls surrounding them and the wheels of their suitcases clattering across the hard ground, Dean asked the question gnawing at him. “When you introduced me before...”

            Cas glanced at him. “There’s really no point hiding anything from them. They’re smart kids.”

            “I know.” Dean swallowed. He looked at his feet. “I just mean... _boyfriend_ is a far way off from...”

            “I know they’re teenagers, Dean, but I’m not going to sit them down and explain the intimate details of our precise situation to them.” His voice had a hard edge to it, like maybe he expected Dean to argue. “Would it really be so hard to pretend that it’s more than benefits just so that I don’t scar my kids for life?”

            Dean opened his mouth to reply but found he had no words. He shook his head. They reached the car just as Jack started to lift one of the suitcases into the trunk and Dean stepped forward to help him. Once they got the van loaded up, Claire slipped into the driver’s seat and Cas went to sit up front with her. Dean slid into the back with Jack who seamlessly carried the earlier conversation into the car. Claire rolled her eyes at him as she backed out of the parking spot and blasted the radio.

            Dean did his best to pretend to be a functional human being during the drive to Kelly’s house. But the closer they got, the more nervous he became. He fumbled his words when responding to Jack’s earnest questions, actually lost a debate to Claire over who the best classic rock band of all time was, and stopped speaking entirely by the time they turned onto residential streets.

            The car wound further into the suburbs and the houses got bigger. They stopped in front of an ornate gold gate and Claire leaned out the window to punch a code into the gate’s lock. It swung open, the car rolled down a curving hill, and they came to a stop on the first curve. Claire cut the engine.

            In front of them, a mansion with Greek columns and smooth white siding sat. The windows were bright and airy, with white lines and curved tops. The front doors were glass with red trim, revealing a massive foyer inside and a sparkling crystal chandelier.

            Dean didn’t move as everyone else got out of the car. His door opened and he glanced over to see Cas smiling at him. Silently, he took Dean’s hands in his and kissed his knuckles. “You’re all right,” he whispered. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

            His heart lightened a little. He swallowed around his tongue, feeling it sitting awkwardly in his mouth. “But Kelly—”

            “Wouldn’t have asked you to be here if she didn’t want you to be.” Cas clicked the button to unlock his seatbelt and Dean scrambled to catch it before it whipped him in the face. “Come on. It’s going to take at least an hour to tour the place and I guarantee you Jack isn’t going to let us shower or change or even sit down until he’s shown us every nook and cranny.”

            “You’ve been here before, right?”

            “I lived here.” Cas smiled. “But he’s excited to show you.”

            Dean laughed a little and stepped out of the car. With his hand once again in Cas’, he headed up the front walk and into the house. He felt small inside the house, as insignificant in the foyer as a speck of dust was in space. But he liked it. He liked looking up at the cavernous ceiling and realizing he was only one dust speck in the whole of the universe, that he wasn’t special, that no one needed to follow him anywhere. In the grand scheme of things, he had nothing important to do.

            “You made it,” Kelly said, sounding mildly surprised.

            Dean turned towards the sound of her voice as Claire tossed the keys her way. Kelly caught them easily, her long manicured nails curling over the black fob. She looked just the way Dean remembered her. More lines touched her face but she had the same wide eyes and sharp smile. Her brown and blonde hair hung straight as a curtain against her contoured cheeks. She wore a pair of black slacks and a white silk blouse, as if she’d just come home from the office and slung off her blazer.

            “Hi, Cas,” she said with a smile. She hugged him. “Hi, Dean.” She hesitated and then held out her hand.

            He shook it. “Nice to see you again,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound like he was lying.

            Awkwardness crept in surprisingly quickly. Dean had no idea what to say to his fake-boyfriend’s real-ex-wife when she invited them to stay at her house over Christmas. _Thank you? You have a beautiful home? We’ll try to stay out of your way?_ Every pleasantry Dean could think of had the potential to make the situation more awkward and he’d prefer to avoid that at any cost.

            Luckily, Jack stepped in. “We should start the house tour before it gets too late.”

            “Honey.” Kelly reached out and ran her fingers through his hair. “They’ve had a long flight. Let’s give them some time to rest before they have to walk around this monstrosity.”

            Jack’s face fell.

            “I could go for a tour,” Dean said. He glanced at Cas and forced a smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in a house this big.”

            “I’m surprised you don’t _have_ a house this big,” Kelly said, no trace of animosity in her voice. But Dean felt it there in her words, in the slight judgement for the things he must have spent his money on instead.

            “I’m wiped,” Cas said. “Mind if I leave you two to the tour?”

            Jack nodded.

            “You’re in the East guest room.” Kelly took the bags from Jack and Cas took half of them from her; together they wandered off. Claire and Jack stared after them for a long moment, their expressions a curious mix of pensive and confused.

            “The tour?” Dean prompted.

            Jack jumped to the task as Claire disappeared into another part of the house. The two of them walked all the way to the end of the West wing before Jack started the tour. He opened doors as he walked down the hall, displaying empty rooms behind them. He explained that they really only lived in the East part of the house and the rest was unused. He said this with a hint of animosity towards the wastefulness, even going so far as to suggest they let homeless people stay the night in the West wing. When Dean pointed out his mother probably found that dangerous, Jack waved off the notion, saying, “When you don’t understand someone’s life choices, it doesn’t make them dangerous.”

            They made it to the centre of the house and Jack showed off the kitchen, living room, formal sitting room, dining room, and the back porch. Despite it being December, the air was mildly warm and Dean barely felt a chill even though he was only in a t-shirt. Jack circled back inside, walking through the massive library where Claire sat on top of one of the tables surrounded by mythology books.

            Dean slowed as they passed her. “What are you working on?”

            “I’m trying to map the history of vampire myths,” Claire said. “Find where they started, what the common links were, what could have been the cause of them.”

            Dean glanced down at the papers in front of her. Their edges crumbled with age, the paper yellowed. “Good luck,” he said, not sure what else he could offer to her research. She gave him a sarcastic salute.

            He followed Jack into the East wing, where he pointed out various bedrooms that were occupied, the guest room where Dean would be sleeping, and the bathroom he would be using. The shower ran behind the closed door. Jack moved on to Claire’s room – he didn’t open the door and even gave it a wide berth – then his mom’s. Finally, he came to a stop before the door to his own bedroom.

            When he opened the door, Dean expected to find posters and action figures and a hundred books and maybe a laptop. Instead, he saw a relatively small space with a simple bed, plain furniture, and nothing on the white walls. He raised an eyebrow at Jack.

            “It doesn’t make sense to have so much when others have so little.”

            “You know you’re not a monk, right?”

            Jack smiled and shrugged. “I have things. Just not in my room.”

            Dean let it go. Jack led him into the movie theatre and then the bowling alley. He hit the lights and the whole place went glow-in-the-dark. Dean laughed and stepped inside.

            “Do you want to play?” Jack said. “I’m not very good but...”

            “Bowling isn’t about being good. It’s about having fun.” Dean picked up a ball and aimed at the pins. It rolled sideways, landing firmly in the gutter. A TV overhead echoed _gutterball gutterball gutterball_ as a cartoon turkey stared down at him disapprovingly. Dean laughed.

            “The object of the game is to hit the pins.” Jack stopped a few feet away.

            Dean picked up another bowling ball and placed it in Jack’s hands. “The object of the game is to have fun. You know that word? Fun?”

            Jack rolled his eyes, finally acting a little like a normal teenager. “I’ve heard of it.”

            “Good. Now throw.”

            He looked up at the screen. “But it’s still your turn.”

            “We’re not keeping score, so it doesn’t matter.” Dean directed Jack towards the lane, half worried he might have to force him to throw the ball. But, as he stepped back, Jack took up an awkward stance and tossed the ball the way a person might toss a baseball. The bowling ball dropped heavily on the lane, making Dean flinch and then laugh as it rolled sideways and made its way painstakingly slowly down the gutter.

            It took a few more rounds to teach Jack how to properly throw a bowling ball. Claire came in to see what all the commotion was and turned on the overhead speakers so bad 80s pop music blasted through the room. Dean gave her a disappointed look. “I thought you had better taste than that,” he said.

            She shrugged. “When you’re in a glow-in-the-dark bowling alley, you embrace the theme.” She picked up a pink ball and tossed it with easy grace. _Strike strike strike_ the speakers echoed.

            “You never taught your brother how to bowl?” Dean said.

            “I just assumed he’d be useless at it.”

            “Hey! I’ve gotten two spares!” Jack said.

            Dean broke up their bickering before it could get too far and reset the game. This time, he actually entered their names and stuck to the proper order. Their laughter echoed off the walls as Claire taunted her brother and Jack replied politely. Dean joked with them both, earning eye rolls and more than a few muttered, _old man_ s from Claire.

            As the game came to a close, Claire lined up her last shot. Just as the ball was about to release from her hand, Jack said, “Don’t choke,” and she fumbled the throw. The ball bounced into the gutter and she turned to glare at Jack.

            For a moment, even over the blaring cheer of _Safety Dance_ tension filled the air. Then, Claire laughed and leaped on her brother. They dropped off the benches into a playful wrestling match that was more them swatting at each other than anything else. Dean tried to break it up but he couldn’t contain his laughter enough to get out a coherent sentence.

            When they finally sat up, exhausted, Claire blew the hair from her face and Jack helped her tuck some of it back behind her ears. She swatted him away.

            “Dinner’s ready.”

            Dean looked up to see Cas standing a few feet away, trying to hide the smile on his face. The kids got up off the floor, still smiling, and Cas watched them go with a pleasant expression. When he looked back at Dean, he said, “Just a few hours with you and they’re already fighting?” he tsked. “You’re such a bad influence.”

            Dean rose from his seat with a smile and a shrug. “What can I say? I was a big fan of brawls as a kid.”

            “Oh, yeah?” Cas caught him by the waist and pulled him closer. His smile had taken over his face, infecting all the air around his with giddiness. “Did you have a lot of brawls with Sam?”

            “A ton.”

            “You win any?”

            Dean scoffed. “I won all of them.”

            “Even once Sam got taller than you?”

            “Well, I’d stopped fighting him by then, being the reigning champion and all.”

            Cas laughed and pressed their lips together. Dean wrapped his arms around Cas’ neck, pulling him in deeper, tasting the toothpaste on his breath. For a moment, even wrapped up in the time-warp bowling alley, it felt like they existed in an untouchable bubble. They kissed for a long time, until Dean felt his lips getting tired, and then he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against Cas’.

            “You said something about dinner?”


	52. Chapter 52

Cas thought Christmas came too fast. But the more effort he put into slowing time down, the faster it seemed to go. He spent mornings making breakfast with his kids, afternoons being dragged to their favourite places, and evenings watching TV with one or both of them. Before they’d gotten to Orlando, Cas had worried Dean would feel out of place with his family but he fit so easily Cas almost forgot that he hadn’t always been there. Jack idolized him. Claire loved having someone new to poke fun at. Even Kelly welcomed him with open arms.

            As Christmas Eve approached, afternoon turning into evening with the setting sun, Cas felt his heart work its way further up his throat. He wanted to stop time and just memorize the details of his kids’ faces while they laughed. When had they gotten so big? Claire still didn’t wear makeup, but she seemed prettier, more confident in every move she made. She carried college brochures from room to room, broaching the topic of Sarah Lawrence and the like every time he and Kelly were in the same room. Jack had grown almost three inches since Cas had last seen him and he held his convictions more firmly. Dean joked that the kid would grow up to start a cult but Cas worried it wasn’t too far off from the truth.

            Dean stood between the kids at the kitchen counter as the three of them spread icing over gingerbread men. Cas approached and stole a cookie from the plate. “Hey!” Jack exclaimed. Dean laughed. Claire picked up a cookie herself and bit into it.

            “You’re ruining decorating,” Jack said.

            Dean put a dollop of icing on Jack’s nose. “Everyone knows gingerbread is better warm.” Then he stole a cookie off the tray himself and stuffed half of it into his mouth.

            Decorating became eating cookies until Kelly came in and told them all not to ruin their dinner. All four of them stared at her blankly until she sighed, grabbed a cookie herself, and started to munch on it while offering decorating tips. They ended up with only ten gingerbread men, fully decorated with pink skirts, wide top hats, and satanic smiles. Jack and Cas lined them up outside the gingerbread house like a chorus of carollers.

            No one ate much of the dinner Kelly prepared but she didn’t seem offended in the least. Soon, they retired to the living room with hot chocolate. Claire turned on the radio to a channel playing 24/7 Christmas music. Dean shot her a disappointed look and she flipped him off before flopping down on the couch beside him. The Christmas tree twinkled in the corner. Dean leaned into Cas and Cas shifted to put an arm around him as the conversation flowed seamlessly from movie inconsistencies to music to college and back to Christmas.

            “Can we open presents now?” Claire asked. Her eyes widened innocently as she sipped at her hot chocolate, whipped cream on her nose.

            Kelly sighed.

            Cas chuckled. “We open presents on Christmas Day. You know that.”

            “Then why do thousands of people worldwide open them Christmas Eve?”

            “Because Santa comes early for them.”

            Claire rolled her eyes.

            Jack looked between Claire and Cas. “If you’re keeping this up for me, I know Santa’s not real.”

            Dean burst into laughter, surprising Cas who had been sure he was half asleep. He’d dumped a lot of Bailey’s into his hot chocolate and had looked five seconds from collapsing before he’d started drinking. Cas shifted to avoid spilling his drink on Dean, who had slipped down so his head rested in Cas’ lap. “My family always opened presents Christmas Eve,” Dean said. “Or at least, Sam and I did.”

            “Without permission?” Cas said.

            Dean shrugged but his smile gave him away.

            “I don’t think we should disrespect Dean’s traditions.” Claire scooted upright. “It would be rude to force our guest to do everything our way, wouldn’t it? Shouldn’t we embrace new ways of doing things as we welcome new people into the family?”

            Jack shot his sister an odd look. “Did you say that or did I?”

            “Please, mom,” Claire whined. She glanced towards Cas. “Please, dad?”

            Cas sighed and glanced at Kelly. Even after years apart, it was still so easy to turn to her when their kids asked them both a question. He could even read the answer in her eyes. But for once, looking at her like that, with the glow of multi-coloured Christmas lights creating a halo around her head, Cas didn’t feel a pang in his heart. He ran his fingers through Dean’s hair, feeling perfectly at peace.

            “One present each,” Kelly said. And, as the kids scrambled towards the tree, she added, “And I get approval on which ones.”

            “How about mine?” Dean sat up, nearly spilling their drinks again. He rubbed his eyes. “That way, it’s my tradition they’re following and not ruining yours.”

            “Great idea.”

            Dean got to his feet, telling the kids to wait a moment, and stumbled out of the room. Cas watched him go, wondering if he should go after him.

            Then, Claire said, “It’s not bullshit anymore, is it?”

            Cas met his daughter’s eyes. The harshness of her voice didn’t disguise the worry in it, the edge to her tone just daring him to ruin Christmas. And although she tried her hardest to look like she was challenging him, he knew she was asking – ssking for reassurance, asking for permission to like Dean, asking if she could let herself get close to him. Cas swallowed hard and glanced at Kelly.

            She stared back at him, just as blank and hopeful. Cas felt his heart twist in his chest.

            “You have eyes, don’t you?” Jack said, cutting into the silence. “Or ears, at least?”

            “Don’t be gross,” Claire snapped.

            Jack held up his hands in mock surrender. “You wouldn’t have to ask stupid questions if you just paid attention.”

            Claire opened her mouth to reply but Dean walked back into the room. He plopped down between the two of them, shushing them both, and set the presents down in front of them. He hadn’t wrapped them well enough to conceal what they were but, calmly, and with only a hint of drunkenness, he handed Jack a white envelope.

            “Now, this,” he said, quite seriously, “is from both me and your dad.”

            Jack looked at Claire. “Told you so.”

            She stuck her tongue out at him.

            Dean patted them both on the knee. They sat just inside the pool of light from the Christmas tree, their knees barely touching. Cas pulled out his phone to take a picture, then got to his feet to take one from the front instead of the back. He took a few as Jack opened the envelope.

            He looked curious as he shifted through the papers and then a smile started to spread across his lips. “What’s his name?” Jack said, scrambling to find it even as he asked. “How old is he? Where does he live? Can I write to him?” Dean reached over to help him shift through the papers and answered the questions calmly.

            Cas looked up at Kelly. She smiled, raising her eyebrows. “How’d you manage that?”

            “It was all Dean.”

            As Jack managed to get all the papers in order, Dean turned to Claire. He shifted the guitar case towards her and Cas got a little worried. Claire had a guitar – three, to be exact – and a fourth wasn’t exactly the practical thing Cas had suggested.

            Dean opened the case and said, “This is the guitar I learned to play on. Sammy learned how to play on it too.” He pulled it out and set it on Claire’s lap. “I’m sure Jo got her hands on it at one point or another too but, for the last few years, it was...” He trailed off, his eyes falling to the strings as Claire strummed through a couple of chords. He swallowed hard. “It belonged to someone very special to me. And I want you to have it now.”

            Claire met his eyes and she smiled even as a tear fell across his cheek. “Thanks,” she said, her voice breaking too. She set the guitar aside and hugged him.

            Cas watched them for a long moment before Jack pulled him into a conversation about his adopted child. Laughing, Cas listened to him painstakingly repeat information Cas already knew. Kelly joined the four of them on the floor. She asked Jack questions about the charity program and still let half her attention fall on Dean and Claire. Dean was teaching her a song – one of his, it seemed – and Claire nodded along with rapt attention.

            By the end of the night, Cas was half-drunk on Bailey’s and almost tired of listening to Claire sing the song Dean had written about Ben. Almost. Dean had collapsed beside him, both of them leaning back against the couch, and Cas’ arm had fallen asleep under the weight of his head. Dean turned into him and mumbled, “Thanks for bringing me here.”

            Cas looked down at him. “Are you sure?” he said, barely managing to get the words out. “The guitar... don’t you want to give it to your own kids, one day?”

            For a long moment, Dean stayed quiet. Cas worried he had asked the wrong thing or Dean had fallen asleep on him. Then, Dean pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. “As far as I’m concerned,” he whispered, the alcohol slurring his words, “she is mine.”

            Cas wanted to cry. But instead, he kissed the top of Dean’s head and let his eyes close to the sound of Claire singing, Jack scribbling out a letter, and the silent hum of all of them breathing in a shared space.

 

Christmas morning stayed quiet. Time had mellowed out his kids, no longer up at six a.m. to see what Santa brought them but instead snoozing late into the day with the knowledge all their presents had been safely under the tree for weeks now. The sagging stockings sat on the floor, too heavy to hang properly from the fireplace. Cas sipped his coffee as the winter sunlight rose over the horizon, bathing the kitchen in a warm glow.

            Footsteps sounded in the hall and Cas looked up to see Kelly approach. Her hair still had its early morning static and, instead of dressing, she’d wrapped a fluffy robe around herself. Her bare feet padded across the hardwood.

            Silently, Cas poured a second cup of coffee and slid it towards her. She accepted and blew gently across the surface before dumping five spoonfuls of sugar into it. Cas chuckled, mostly to himself, but she still shot him a playful glare as they did their best not to disturb the peace of the morning.

            Kelly turned on the TV, keeping the volume low, and switched to the Christmas parade. She sat down on the edge of the couch with the remote in her hands and watched as raptly as she would a news report. Cas followed her and sat down on the other end of the couch. He sipped his coffee. Part of him wanted to ask Kelly when he could expect the kids to wake up, but more of him wanted to enjoy the silence.

            Time passed. Cas’ stomach grumbled. He headed back to the kitchen, poured his second cup of coffee, and started to make pancakes. He made them from scratch, even though there was a mix in the cupboard, because it would take longer and hopefully they wouldn’t be cold by the time everyone else woke up. Kelly joined him a few minutes later and broke the silence by suggesting they add chocolate chips to the batter. Then she got started on making whipped cream.

            By the time the first pancakes were cooked, they were laughing. “You can’t possibly _know_ that,” Cas said even as Kelly shushed him. He lowered his voice. “You can _suspect_ , you can _guess_ , but you can’t actually know unless—”

            “Unless what?” Kelly said in a significantly louder voice. Cas shushed her in return and she rolled her eyes. “Do you really think our sweet, innocent son is going to tell us that he has a girlfriend?”

            “I think he’s going to ask permission to have a girlfriend.”

            She laughed and quickly muffled the sound with her hand. Cas smiled as her face went red and he flipped a pancake. While she recovered, he turned on the oven to the lowest temperature and pulled a plate out of the cupboard. He put the first three cooked pancakes onto it, then opened the oven and placed the plate inside.

            As he poured more batter onto the frying pan, Kelly touched his shoulder. He glanced over at her and she smiled. “They’re lucky, you know,” she said, “that they get to have you as a dad. That there’s so little they have to do to be loved.”

            He wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her closer in a one-armed hug. “They’re lucky to have you too, Kelly.”

            She shook her head and pressed her face into his shoulder. It took Cas a moment to realize she had started to cry and, when he did, he had no idea what to do. He wrapped his other arm around her too and turned her into his chest, stroking her hair as her breathing slowly calmed. Kelly had never been one for crying – it happened fast, then she took control and got what she wanted. Today seemed no different.

            She pulled back and looked up at him. “I really did think I was protecting them by keeping you away. But it’s clear that all I did was hurt them. And I don’t want to hurt our kids, Cas.”

            Cas felt his heart stutter and then pick up pace. He swallowed hard and brushed a tear off Kelly’s cheek. “You did what you thought was best,” he said. “I’m sorry that I made you think it was necessary.”

            She nodded. “I want to revisit the custody agreement.” Chewing on her bottom lip, she pulled back. “They have to finish school here, of course, but we can look into holidays and breaks where they can see you. And you can come visit whenever you want. And maybe over the summer you can take Claire to some of the colleges she gets into or finally take Jack on that Churches of the States tour he wants to do.”

            Cas chuckled, feeling his smile spread wider than was comfortable. With tears in his eyes, he wrapped Kelly in another hug, squeezing her tight. She hugged him back this time and Cas felt the last little bit of his worry slip away.

            Slowly, they disentangled themselves and went back to cooking. Jack woke up first, sleep-walked into the kitchen, and said, “Good morning. Merry Christmas.”

            “Merry Christmas,” Cas and Kelly said in near unison.

            Jack rubbed his eyes as Kelly slid a plate of pancakes in front of him. She reached forward to brush the hair out of his eyes. “Are you okay, honey? Did you get enough sleep?”

            “No.” He flinched away from her touch. “I was reading up on that charity dad adopted the kid from and there are just _dozens_ of kids waiting for someone to sponsor them. They have no one else in the world and for just five cents a day—”

            “You didn’t adopt any more of them, did you?” Kelly said.

            Jack shook his head. “But... how did you choose which kid to adopt? How did you know who would need me the most out of all those needy kids?”

            Cas shot Kelly a vaguely horrified look which she returned in kind. Licking his lips, Cas said, “Dean closed his eyes and pointed to a picture at random.”

            Jack stared at him with the kind of blank-eyed gaze Cas usually associated with mental patients and people still half-asleep. Then, he nodded and stabbed a pancake. He started to chew. Cas looked back at Kelly, who shrugged, and then went back to cooking.

            Dean entered the kitchen when Jack was on his third pancake. He said, “Merry Christmas,” kissed Cas on the cheek, and tried to steal a pancake right out of the pan. He burned his fingers and Kelly quickly pushed him towards the sink, running cold water over his hand. With a sigh, she said, “There are cooked ones in the oven if you’re patient.”

            “Who wants to be patient?”

            Claire yawned as she stepped into the room and paused. Half her hair was on the wrong side of her head but she managed to look just as annoyed as usual. “Since when do we eat breakfast before opening presents?”

            “Since when do you sleep half the day?” Jack said.

            She swatted him on the back of the head as she passed. Heading straight for Cas, she ignored his pleasant greeting and instead ducked down to open the oven. She picked out three pancakes, placed them in her palm, and stood. “Morning,” she said finally, smiled bright, and whirled away with half a pancake already between her lips.

            “So everyone knows the oven trick except for me?” Dean said.

            “If you ever cooked—”

            “If you ever let me.”

            Cas laughed. “I don’t want you burning down that expensive house of yours.”

            Dean flipped him off with his good hand and then shut off the water. As he dried his hand, Cas shifted out of the way so Kelly could pluck more pancakes out of the oven. She set the plate in front of Dean and he somehow managed to cajole the kids into speaking civilly. Cas watched them for a minute too long, only coming to his senses when he smelled burning batter.

            With a start, he flipped the pancake over and looked at the blackened back. Kelly laughed at him and took over the cooking duties so he could eat something. He joined the kids and Dean at the table, at first just listening to their banter over who was the best Power Ranger until Dean said, “You people are delusional if you think the red power ranger has anything on the yellow one,” and Cas asked, “But what series are you talking about?” Dean, Claire, and Jack all gave a different response.

            Soon, Kelly joined them as well. They finished up breakfast, washed the dishes, and then gathered around the Christmas tree. Jack handed out the presents and then he and Claire dug into their stockings. Jack’s face lit up at all the small knick-knacks and Cas couldn’t help but smile as he watched Claire thumb through a coupon book.

            They took turns opening the bigger presents. Only a few items surprised Cas. He knew he’d picked out a gift for Kelly – a bottle of her favourite perfume – but he’d had no clue that Dean had bought one too. And his gift was, arguably, better. He’d tracked down a first edition copy of Kelly’s favourite book, complete with the author’s autograph. Cas gave him a surprised look and said, “Are you trying to make me look bad?”

            Dean wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer. “Just trying to make the mother of your kids like me. Because I bet I’m getting nowhere if I’m a bad influence.”

            Cas laughed as Dean pressed playful kisses to his neck and then shoved him off.

            The next gifts that surprised Cas were the ones his kids had picked out for Dean. He’d expected nothing less of Jack – he suspected even if they hadn’t come for Christmas, Jack would have sent Dean something in the mail – but he was surprised by the present itself. Jack had somehow found Dean’s first album on vinyl, of all things, and it was clear from Dean’s expression that he’d never seen his own album in record form.

            Claire got Dean a photo album. Cas shot her an odd look as Dean pulled the ivory album out of the bag and his stomach churned as she gave him a less-than-innocent shrug. Dean flipped open the first page and laughed. Looking over his shoulder, Cas saw a cut out magazine cover from their first appearance as a couple. Dean continued to flip through the pages, each one complete with clippings from gossip magazines with their pictures or mentions of their names. One page even had a screenshot from an interview they did together.”

            “Claire—” Cas started.

            Dean grabbed his arm, laughing so hard he was breathless. “Thank you,” he managed. He held the album tight to his chest. “I’m going to keep this forever.”

            “You better,” she said.

            As Dean continued to flip through the album, more presents were opened. By the end of it all, the floor was covered in wrapping paper, tissue paper, and discarded gift bags. Claire sat on the floor playing Dean’s old guitar, testing out a new pick with each scale she played. Jack already had his computer out and was researching volunteer opportunities at a local hospital – Kelly had signed the permission slip for him to be an underage volunteer and wrapped it in a ribbon. Dean had his phone out, recording, as he flipped through the album again.

            “What are you doing?” Cas asked.

            “Snapchatting.”

            Cas shook his head. He wanted to tell Dean not to, tell him to keep it private, but he had no leg to stand on when he’d posted the picture of Dean and the kids to his Instagram last night. He’d turned his phone off at midnight and kept it off during the morning, but as the clock ticked towards lunch time he wondered what he might be missing.

            Dean leaned towards him and kissed the edge of his jaw. “Relax. Go teach Claire how to play something other than Jingle Bells.”

            Cas gave him a look. “I only know how to play Jingle Bells.”

            “You’re a disappointment.” He stood up, pulling Cas with him, and joined the kids on the floor with a grunt. He flipped Claire off when she called him an old man and replied with, “You’re the one playing an irrelevant Christmas song.”

            Cas shook his head and turned his attention to Jack. With minimal coaxing, he convinced him to relax a little and soon they had _Gossip Girl_ on. Lying on his stomach beside his son, reading the subtitles because Claire and Dean’s arguing was too loud, Cas finally felt like he’d found his home.

 

Later, when Christmas dinner had been eaten and the crackers popped, Cas sat with a paper crown on his head while he tried not to fall asleep. Dean had left the room to take a call and the kids had retreated to their rooms. Kelly sat on the floor, wine drunk with her pink crown tilted over one eye, and flipped through channel after channel playing sitcom reruns.

            “Stop,” Cas said when she reached a _Friends_ episode.

            Kelly flipped the channel anyways and Cas slipped off the couch to join her on the floor. His tailbone ached – he was far from the years where he could comfortably spend as much time on the ground as he had today. She rested her head on his shoulder as her channel surfing got slower. He took the remote and flipped back to _Friends_.

            “I don’t like this one,” she said.

            “There aren’t any bad _Friends_ episodes.”

            She closed her eyes and hummed her assent.

            The episode played for a few minutes, canned laughter rumbling through the surround sound. Kelly’s voice surprised him – he’d thought she’d fallen asleep. “He’s good for you,” she whispered.

            “What?”

            “Dean.” She waved off any coming protests without even opening her eyes. “I know you say it’s fake or pretend or real until the ink dries, but you’ve never been able to lie to me. Hell, even if you could, Dean’s poker face leaves a lot to be desired.”

            Cas managed a weak chuckle.

            “He’s the one,” she said with a kind of defeated finality. “I know it.”

            He kissed the top of her head.

            “All I ask is that, if anything happens, if it ends up not being what it seems to be...” she trailed off, her head drooping, and then snapped back to attention. “Tell the kids before things get out of hand. They really love him. They love you with him.”

            Cas met her gaze and nodded. He ran his fingers through her hair. “They’ll know first.”

            He looked up at the sound of footsteps and saw Dean standing in the doorway, mouth wide open. For a second, Cas just blinked at him. Then he realized what it must have looked like – his arm around Kelly, her curled into him, the late night and the empty bottles of wine. He started to shift away from her, his mind racing to form an excuse.

            “Dick Clark just called,” Dean said.

            Cas blinked. He tightened his arm around Kelly when she tilted to the side. “Dick Clark’s dead.”

            “Right. Umm.” He paused. He put up a hand, asking Cas to wait, and his fingers slowly curled into a fist. Then he started to walk forward. “Dick Clark’s New Year’s Eve called. They want me to perform. They had someone drop out last minute and they’re paying for the flight and they want me on stage when the ball drops.”

            Dean knelt on the floor in front of Cas, his smile infectious. “Come with me,” he said. “Kiss me at midnight.”

            Cas leaned forward and pressed their lips together.

            “Please,” Dean added, a little breathless.


	53. Chapter 53

The rush to get ready for New Year’s Eve almost overtook the rest of the holiday. _Almost_ being the optimistic word choice. But between Chuck and Claire, Dean cobbled together a three-song set list and got it approved by the organizers. He managed not to piss off Kelly by practicing in the West wing, where no one ever was. And, for the most part, he felt that Cas appreciated the chance to spend time with his kids without worrying about Dean.

            Dean loved every second of Christmas with Cas’ family. For the first time in his life, he felt like he _had_ a family. Growing up, it had just been him and Sam. Even Christmas with Lisa had felt a little bare, like something was missing. Dean had always thought it was a wedding ring but maybe he had been wrong about that. Maybe what had been missing was the sense he was a part of it, rather than intruding on it.

            The day before New Year’s, they packed and headed off to the airport. Dean gathered all their bags in the foyer and waited. He kept checking his phone even though he got no new notifications. Somewhere, further away in the house, he heard Claire and Jack arguing over bathroom space. Forget that the house had more bathrooms than people.

            Kelly walked into the room and gave him a small smile.

            Dean cleared his throat. “Thank you, Kelly,” he said, “for letting us come. I know it wasn’t an easy decision.”

            She shrugged. “Thank you for making me think of it.”

            An awkward silence settled between them. They’d gotten along over the past ten days, but Dean had rarely been in a room alone with her. He had never been in a room alone with her without a TV, radio, or other source of distraction. Now, all his distractions except for his phone were safely packed away. And pulling out his phone felt rude when she was standing three feet from him.

            “I just want to—” she began.

            At the same time, Dean said, “That chandelier looks—”

            They both bit their lips and stared at each other. She laughed first and Dean joined in with a weak chuckle. Stepping forward, she laid a hand on his arm and said, “I was married to Cas for a long time and some part of me always had this sense that he was looking for something different, for something that I couldn’t be.”

            She licked her lips. “I don’t think he gets that with you. But I just want you to know that, whatever happens, you shouldn’t try to change for him. Neither of you will like the end result.”

            Dean’s stomach churned. “I’ve changed because of him.”

            She forced a smile and stepped back. “I really do wish you two the best.”

            Before he could come up with a reply to that, before he could decide if thanking her and letting it go was a better decision than challenging her somewhat vague attempt to drive a wedge between them, Cas came down the stairs with the kids in tow. He hugged Kelly goodbye and the four of them walked out to the car to load up the suitcases. Dean tried to swallow his uneasiness as he looked back at Kelly watching from the doorway. She waved as they drove off.

            The car ride was too loud to dwell on anything. Both Claire and Jack seemed determined to impart as much information as possible to their dad before he left again. Dean listened with vaguely hidden amusement as Cas did his best to listen and reply to both of them, despite the fact that they often spoke over each other.

            They pulled up to the drop-off zone and got out of the car. Dean waited on the curb with the suitcases while Cas said goodbye to his kids, whispering reassurances to each of them and hugging them both in turn. When Claire hugged Dean too, he huffed out a surprised breath as she held him tight. “Don’t disappear,” she whispered and then pulled back with a sad smile.

            Jack hugged him too, holding on for longer but staying silent. He wished them both a safe flight. And Dean felt his heart break as he turned away from the two of them. He glanced back once as he entered the airport to see Claire holding Jack’s arm tightly and his head resting on her shoulder. Glancing at Cas, Dean found him already looking at him.

            “It’s best not to look back,” Cas said, his voice only slightly choked. “Makes it easier.”

            Dean intertwined their fingers. They stepped into the airport and straight into a wall of photographers. Blinking through the shock, Dean let Cas pull him through the paparazzi and right up to the check-in desk. He could see his hands trembling but couldn’t feel it. Cas spoke quickly to the lady behind the desk but kept calm.

            _Security_. Dean knew that the paparazzi couldn’t follow them through security, unless they wanted to buy tickets and send their expensive equipment through the scanners. As the woman checked their tickets and tagged their bags, Cas asked, “What prompted this?”

            Dean shook his head. “The New Year’s thing? Not seeing us in ten days?” He glanced over his shoulder at the shouting reporters and tried to swallow his nerves. Like everything else in his life, he’d long ago gotten used to throngs of people following his every move. He had no idea why his tolerance faded every time he got away from them for a few days.

            “You’re okay.” Cas tapped his fingers against the desk. “We’re okay.”

            They got through security without a problem. Once inside the terminal, no one seemed interested in them. Dean felt himself relax, the tension pouring out of his muscles as he forced himself to breathe. Cas rubbed his arm but stayed quiet.

            Dean’s thoughts whirred away in a thousand different directions. Now that they were finally alone, or as alone as they could expect to be, he thought about bringing up all the things he’d ignored over the holiday. Like Cas calling him his boyfriend. The kids getting attached to him. Kelly oscillating between supportive and worried. What it meant that they had acted like a couple all weekend even though there was no one around to blow their cover.

            But he swallowed it all. After the kiss Cas had pulled away from, Dean knew he didn’t want to push past the benefits stage. After the anger in his voice when Dean asked about telling the kids he was his boyfriend, Dean had realized the topic wasn’t up for discussion. He felt his heart sink into his stomach and get eaten away at.

            He slept most of the plane ride. Chuck met them at the airport and separated them – he sent Cas on to the hotel and forced Dean straight into rehearsals. Dean welcomed the reprieve. All week, he had been Cas’ boyfriend and no one else. Now he got the chance to be Dean Winchester again and he leaned into it, perhaps a little too hard.

            When a light blew, he cussed out the sound technician. The guitarist had some very choice words about the notes in his song, to which Dean replied that he could figure it out or get fired. By the time Dean was sweaty and raw-voiced, his reputation as difficult was firmly back in place.

            He sat on the edge of the stage and drank half a water bottle. Chuck approached with a cautious expression and Dean snapped, “Grow a pair and tell me what’s wrong.”

            Chuck sighed. “Bad day?”

            Dean blinked. “Long flight.”

            “It’s three hours.”

            “Not long enough then.” He yawned.

            Chuck said nothing for a moment, then he hopped up onstage beside Dean. He swung his legs. Dean watched both their feet for a moment, their nearly identical scuffed boots, the ratty jeans they both wore. He sighed and felt a weight drop off his shoulders as he rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Tell the crew I’m sorry. I... it’s been a long week.”

            “Don’t apologize.” Chuck curled the papers in his hands. “Goody-two-shoes doesn’t look good on you. And the label has an album to sell.” He got to his feet and patted Dean on the shoulder. “You should get some sleep though. Talk to your boyfriend. And not blow this huge opportunity.”

            Dean nodded as Chuck walked away. He continued to sit on the edge of the stage though, right up until he was asked to leave so the next performer could do their sound check. Then, he headed back to the hotel but didn’t go up to the room. Instead, he stopped at the hotel bar and ordered a beer. Hockey played on one of the overhead TVs and a few guys in the booths shouted every time someone neared the goal.

            By the time Dean headed up to the room, most of the city was asleep. He opened the door as cautiously as possible and began to shed his clothes. He did away with his boxers too. Stepping further into the room, he felt a sharp spike of affection for Chuck. He’d booked a room with two queen beds instead of one king.

            Dean watched the rise and fall of Cas’ chest for a moment, listened to the gentle lull of his breathing. Then he stepped away and curled under the covers of the empty bed even though it made him feel cold all over.

 

Dean woke to the static sound of the morning news, warm sunlight flooding in between the curtains, and an unfamiliar alarm’s beep. He turned to blink at the hotel clock – a black box with red numbers – and spent a few seconds willing his brain to wake up enough to figure out how to shut off the damn alarm. He settled for the snooze button, then pushed himself into a sitting position.

            Yawning, he glanced around the room. The other bed was empty but he bet he had Cas to thank for the eleven a.m. alarm. He’d left the TV on too, to a channel not showing the news but rather the weather and traffic reports. As Dean got to his feet, he stretched out his sore muscles and grabbed his phone. Twelve missed texts from Chuck, most of them reminders that he needed to be in Times Square by six and would be smart to arrive before then.

            Dean dropped his phone down on the desk as he passed on the way to the bathroom and saw that Cas had scrawled a note on the hotel pad. _Went to breakfast._ No heart, no invitation to join, no nothing. Dean stared at the three words for a long moment before shaking them out of his head and heading for the shower.

            By the time he emerged from the hot water, Cas had returned. He sat on the edge of the bed, his phone on speaker by his knee, and rifled through a sheath of papers. Dean stayed quiet as he walked past, running a towel through his hair. Charlie’s voice came clipped through the static. “All your big luggage arrived safely back in L.A. last night and the studio finalized your contracts this morning. They expect you to be available for press but understand if something conflicts with the movie’s press schedule. I’ll send you the dates when I have them.”

            “Thanks, Charlie.” Cas reached for the phone but the call cut off. He sighed and went back to flipping through the papers.

            “What’s all that?” Dean said.

            “The release for Dick Clark’s.” He rubbed his forehead. “I told Charlie I could handle it. That might have been a mistake.”

            “Just sign it.”

            Cas looked up at him with tired eyes. And, when his gaze wandered, Dean realized he had his only towel in his hand. At least dripping wet and sitting on the edge of a bed was a good look on him. He gave Cas a wide grin, which Cas returned before saying, “I’m not going to sign something I didn’t read.”

            “Chuck read it. He’s got my back.”

            “This is a different contract from yours. I’m not performing so—”

            “So it probably doesn’t have the ten pages about how they’re not liable if you trip over a microphone chord and impale yourself on a 2018 signpost.” Dean got to his feet again, grabbed a pen, and held it out to Cas. “It’s just an appearance contract. The same one you sign every time you do an interview or walk a red carpet. Trust me.”

            Cas stared at the pen in his hand. Or, maybe, just past it to something more interesting. Then he took the pen, signed his name, and threw the contract onto the other bed. His eyes wandered up the wet planes of Dean’s body, his tongue spreading over his lower lip, and Dean felt all his blood rush downwards. Their eyes met, electricity crackling, and Dean leaned in for the kiss.

            To his surprise, Cas stopped him with a hand on his chest. A hand that then started to move downwards as Cas’ gaze flickered before he shook his head and got a hold on himself. “We should talk, Dean.”

            Dean stepped back and rolled his eyes. “We have over six hours before we have to be anywhere and you want to spend it _talking_?” He crossed his arms and leaned back against the desk. The warm wood dug into his ass but Dean ignored the horrible decision he’d made. The pain was worth it to see Cas’ resolve slipping through his fingers like sand.

            “It won’t take the whole six hours,” Cas managed, his voice getting rough.

            Dean smiled. “Fine. I’m listening.”

            “Could you put on some clothes?”

            “No.”

            “This isn’t exactly the kind of thing we can talk about with your clothes off.”

            “Maybe you can’t talk when I’m nude, but I’m very good at it.”

            “But you’re usually begging for something.”

            The harshness snapping through Cas’ words shocked Dean enough that his mouth dropped open. Licking over his bottom lip, he felt his smile growing. He hoisted himself up to sit on top of the desk and met his determined gaze. “And what exactly do you want me to be begging for?”

            Cas hesitated for a little more than a moment before looking away. He got to his feet, picked up Dean’s discarded towel, and lay it across his lap. But he stepped closer all the same, resting one hand on the desk by Dean’s thigh. “You can’t distract me with shameless flirting.”

            “I think history is on my side when I say I can.” He placed his lips against Cas’ neck and fluttered kisses down its length. Reaching out, he grabbed Cas’ hip and pulled him in between his legs. He felt the groan rumble through Cas’ body as he suppressed the sound. Dean curled his fingers under the waistband of Cas’ jeans and popped open the button, then worked his way down the zipper.

            As he lay kisses against the fabric of Cas’ shirt, Cas leaned forward and pressed his lips to the top of Dean’s head. His hands grazed over Dean’s bare shoulders and rubbed down his arms. Dean pushed down Cas’ pants, then worked his fingers up under his t-shirt, pushing it up until Cas got the hint and pulled it off himself.

            Their lips met in a heated kiss, Dean craning his neck back as Cas pushed into him. He scrambled to grasp the desk behind him and held on to its edge as Cas leaned into his body. Their thighs rubbed together, Dean’s dick brushing the inside of Cas’ legs. He groaned into the sensation, pushing Cas back as he did so and popped out of the kiss.

            Cas looked down at him with a raised eyebrow.

            “I changed my mind,” Dean said as he hopped off the desk. He pushed Cas back towards the bed. “I want to be on top.

            He laughed. “Kind of got the impression that wasn’t what you liked.”

            “Kind of got the impression you should shut up.” Dean shoved him down and then climbed on top of him. He looked down at Cas, smiling up at him, and then worked on kissing that stupid smirk right off his face. He coaxed Cas further up the bed, pushing him back into the pillows and kissing him hard, letting his hands roam over his warm body. He grazed his fingers over the edge of Cas’ ass and then squeezed, eliciting a shaky moan.

            He pecked the side of Cas’ jaw. “Kind of got the impression you liked both.”

            “I just like you.”

            Dean felt the butterflies in his stomach flutter into a frenzy. But he ignored the comment as much as he could, choosing to kiss the words off Cas’ lips as his hands wandered downwards. He wrapped a hand around Cas’ shaft and stroked gently at first, just light, teasing touches, as Cas whimpered under his touch.

            “You, uhh...” Cas’ eyes fluttered open for just a second before they closed again. Dean laid light kisses against his shoulder as he stilled his hand. “You forgot to unpack the lube.”

            Dean groaned and pressed his face into Cas’ shoulder. For a moment, he just let his full weight fall onto Cas and then he pushed himself up off the bed. Muttering curses to himself, he walked over to his suitcase and started to dig through his toiletries. He knew he’d packed lube. The big tube had gone into his suitcase back to L.A. and he’d kept the little tube in his carry-on where... it had gotten tossed at security for being too big.

            He rubbed his hands down his face and turned back to Cas. “Do you think they’d have lube at the front desk?”

            Cas laughed. “You’re not asking the front desk for lube.”

            “Then what else can we use as lube?”

            Cas sat up with a half-serious, half-laughing expression. “We are not going to use makeshift lube like in those disgusting stories they write about us on the internet.”

            Dean blinked. “They write disgusting stories about us?”

            “Of course they do.”

            “You _read_ the disgusting stories they write about us?”

            Cas opened his mouth, then quickly shut it. A blush rose to his cheeks as he looked away and mumbled, “Only a couple of them.”

            Smiling, Dean climbed back onto the bed and into his lap. Straddling Cas’ legs, he pushed him back into the pillows and brought their faces together, so close their noses brushed. “And what, pray tell, do we use as lube in these disgusting stories?”

            “We’re not doing it.”

            “Tell me.” He kissed him. “Tell me.”

            Cas sighed and let his resistance fall as Dean pressed kisses around his face. “The usual stuff teenage boys think will work. Lotion, Vaseline, water...”

            “Sounds sticky.” He moved on to kiss Cas’ neck.

            “And then some more creative ones.” Cas hummed. “Maple syrup, Gatorade, beer... and a very disturbing one about using piping hot tea...”

            Dean laughed against Cas’ collarbone. He pressed a kiss to his sternum and then moved back up to his face. They kissed for a minute, maybe more, before Dean rolled off to the side and rested his head onto Cas’ outstretched arm. Cas’ fingers carded through his hair absently as their heavy breathing mingled in the cool room.

            “You wanted to talk?” Dean said after a silent second.

            Cas took even longer to respond. His hand stilled against Dean’s head. “You’ve been acting weird since we left Kelly’s,” he said. “I just... I thought things were going so well when we were there.”

            “They were.” Dean swallowed the lump in his throat. He resisted the urge to move, to roll out of bed and start to pace. Instead, he turned his head towards Cas who was staring firmly at the ceiling. “They are.”

            “Then what happened last night?”

            “Rehearsal ran late.”

            “Chuck called for you in the room, Dean.”

            Dean tried to come up with another feasible lie but, when none presented itself, he forced himself to smile. He kissed the crook of Cas’ shoulder and he shifted away a bit. With superhuman effort, Dean managed to keep his smile in place. And everyone thought he couldn’t act for shit.

            “You’re over-thinking it. It was a long day, I had a few drinks, I didn’t want to wake you when I got back.” He wanted to reach out, to turn Cas’ face towards him, but he felt he should keep his hands to himself. Or, rather, keep as much to himself as he could when they were lying naked in bed with Cas’ arm under his head. Dean stared at the hard set of Cas’ jaw and softened his voice. “Look at this morning. Look at tonight. We’re going to have our first New Year’s Eve date together on live television. You get to kiss me at midnight.”

            “Maybe we should have a first date.”

            Dean froze.

            Cas forged onwards. “We never had a real one. It was always just this fake story we spun for the press. And now we’re out here, doing Christmas with the family and kissing on New Year’s Eve and... we’ve never been on a real first date.”

            He finally turned his head and Dean wished he could read those blue eyes. There was something hopeful in them and something scared, but Dean couldn’t tell what that meant, had no idea what was running through Cas’ head. He pulled back just a little bit, so his vision wouldn’t blur as he tried to read all the secrets on Cas’ face.

            Dean forced his voice to steady. “Wouldn’t that make this real?”

            A long silence beat around them. At least, Dean thought it was silent. His blood rushed through his ears, his heart beating so loud he thought the people next door might bang against the wall and tell them to keep it down. He held Cas’ gaze for what felt like a century and then watched the words leave his lips.

            “I thought we might be done pretending it isn’t.”

            Dean felt his heart explode. The butterflies in his stomach burst out, filling every hollow organ in his body. Without the words to reply, Dean propped himself up and kissed Cas heavily, cupping his face in his hands. He brushed his thumbs through the itchy stubble as their tongue touched.

            When he came up for breath, Cas said, “Is that a yes?”

            “Yes.” Dean stuttered through the single syllable, the happiness in his chest threatening to overwhelm his ability to breathe. “Yes, I’ll take you on a date.”

            “Or I’ll take you.”

            Dean kissed him harder and rolled on top of him. He tried to breathe right through it, even as his lungs burned. Then, Cas pushed him off, laughing, and turned to face him on the bed. He caressed his cheek, his smile soft and teasing. “Maybe we should do something else until you catch your breath.”

            “Maybe you should go buy lube.”

            Cas’ smile ticked up a notch and then he rolled out of bed. Dean fell onto his back, craning his neck just enough to watch Cas pull his pants back on and grab his wallet.

 

“You’ve been great tonight, New York!” Dean shouted into the crowd. They screamed in response, their energy high despite the late hour and near freezing cold. Dean blew on his hands to warm them as he waited for the noise to die down. “I’ve got one more song for you guys tonight. This is a new one for the New Year. It’s going to be the single off my next album—”

            He paused as the crowd screamed. He felt a smile curling over his lips again – he couldn’t help it. Every time he paused or breathed or stayed still long enough, he smiled. Even half-freezing under the stage lights, the sound of his own voice drowned out by the impossibly large crowd, he felt happiness threatening to overwhelm him.

            When the cheers didn’t die down, Dean shouted over their noise. “It’s called _I Don’t Really Love You!_ ” He played the first few chords and the band caught the cue. Part of Dean wished he could see Cas right now, but Cas had been ushered to the main stage with Ryan Seacrest and the stage he was performing on was on the other end of the square.

            _“We broke down the doors, first night out. Met you downtown, you let your wild side out. Never expected that kind of kiss. Tongue down my throat, hands at my hips. Tequila in my veins. Words stolen from my lips.”_

Dean closed his eyes as the crowd screamed and he felt his heart rise up in his chest. A few _I love you_ s surfaced from the audience and Dean blew them a kiss as the chorus came up. The bright lights of the towering buildings shone down around him. Everywhere he looked, an ad or billboard caught his eye. He wondered if he looked small to the viewers back home or if he filled the space as well as Hamilton’s silhouette.

By the time he got the chorus for the third time, the audience screamed the words along with him. _“And I said, I said, I don’t really love you. You said, you said, you don’t really love me too. Five words, three of ‘em true, never said again.”_ Dean held the microphone out to the crowd, kneeling low at the edge of the stage. _“I said, I said, let’s just be friends. You said, you said, add the benefits in. And I’m drowning, drowning, in your kiss.”_

            He stepped back to wrap the song, feeling the heat on his cheeks at odd with the chill tips of his fingers. As the final notes played, he took a bow and yelled, “Thank you, New York! Have a Happy New Year! And give it up for the band!” He turned to the side and applauded as the band took their bows.

            As soon as he stepped down from the stage, a security guard grabbed him by the arm. Dean let himself be pulled along the path as people pushed against the metal railings and reached out for him. He touched a few hands, blew kisses, and shouted, “I love you too!” to a group of girls huddled by a bend in the path.

            They made their way back to the main stage where Ryan was speaking to the camera. The security guard gestured for Dean to wait until the feed switched to something else, so he stood behind the stage and shuffled his feet to keep warm. When he got the signal, he jumped up the steps, said hi to Ryan, and made his way over Cas.

            Cas wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close. He kissed his cheek. “You were great out there.”

            Dean smiled. “I think the cold numbed my nerves.”

            Cas gathered Dean’s hands in his and blew his warm breath over Dean’s icy fingers. Dean felt warm inside even as his skin froze. He dropped his head onto Cas’ shoulder, swaying slightly as the next performer’s voice blasted through the square. The crowd screamed even louder, if possible, than they had when Dean performed.

            He couldn’t let it get to him. In fact, it seemed stupid in that moment that it ever would get to him. Standing behind Cas on that stage, beneath the bright lights, with his breath fogging out in front of him, he felt completely at peace. The hour before midnight dragged with forced laughter, a few sound bites on how he was feeling, and whispered jokes with the other performers stuck standing on the stage.

            Then the ball dropped.

            Dean craned his neck to see it, the purple lights dancing as it moved down and the crowd shouted out the numbers. He shouted along with them, his heart quickening in his chest. “Three... two... one.”

            He turned his head and Cas kissed him. The languid kiss pulled him in, heated up more than just his insides as he pulled Cas closer to him, their tongues playing together and confetti blasting them from above. Cas pulled away, his smile brilliant, and whispered, “Happy New Year.”

            And Dean felt so far from himself that he barely heard Ryan teasing them or the cheers of the crowd or the laughter that had taken up around them. He pulled Cas back in for another kiss, letting go of the world for the first time he could remember.


	54. Chapter 54

The New Year began with a flurry of activity. After Dick Clark’s, Cas and Dean flew back to L.A. and spent a day unpacking their things. Cas felt like the air was lighter all around him. He’d nearly swallowed his tongue after admitting to Dean that things were real for him but now Dean seemed happier and more into him than ever before. Cas settled into the easy routine he used to have, the routine of living with someone he loved and was committed to.

            Scheduling conflicts held their first date off for a few weeks. They combined their calendars and settled on a date – January 19th. Dean had a studio session in the morning but he swore up and down he’d be out of it before three o’clock at the absolute latest. Cas, on the other hand, had a table read scheduled at one-thirty and was less confident he would make it out by five. But, as Dean insisted, he’d be out before eight and, if they missed it, they had no classic date night time open until mid-February.

            They still saw each other plenty. More than Cas expected given all the contracts and photo shoots he’d had to endure, plus the endless negotiation of press dates between _Dreaded Darkness_ and _Tattletale Tricks_. Charlie remained cold towards him but was a good agent with solid negotiating skills. He thanked god he could at least still rely on her for his work life if not for his personal life.

            January 19th rolled up faster than Cas would have thought. He woke to find Dean lying beside him, watching him, and he kissed him before he said a word. “Shouldn’t you be on your way to the studio?”

            Dean’s lip twitched upwards. “I wanted to see you first.”

            “I was lying here the whole time.”

            “Since when are you so sassy?” Dean kissed him harder, rolled half on top of him, and then broke the embrace by leaping out of bed on Cas’ side. He headed straight for the dresser and started to pull on his clothes.

            Cas rolled over to watch him. “Going for the rumpled rockstar look?”

            “That, plus fashionably late, equals a reputation even Chuck can’t fault.” Fully dressed, he turned back and placed one last kiss on Cas’ lips. “Don’t fuck up the table read. I need you tonight.”

            “You’re so fucking cheesy.”

            “You love it.” Dean’s voice softened around the words so much that Cas felt his heart pick up pace. Then Dean winked and left the room, leaving Cas in the warmth of the empty bed with the overhead light on.

            He got up despite the early hour. He always felt better with coffee, breakfast, and the news out of the way before he had to rush off anywhere. Checking his phone, he saw a text from Charlie telling him when the car would pick him up. He texted her back a thumbs up and his heart ached. A big part of him wanted to gush about his first date to her, tell her every detail, and have her make a big deal about how great it was that he was finally happy. But knowing none of that could happen when the date was with Dean, he set the phone down on the bedside table and headed downstairs.

            Just after one, the car pulled up. The ride to the studio office wasn’t long but Cas preferred to be early, rather than late. Once at the office, he took the elevator up to the fourth floor and was directed towards a conference room near the back of the building. He had just barely gotten used to all the secrecy. The show had a codename and a strict NDA right up until the time the casting became public. Cas thought it was a little ridiculous – anyone who read a gossip magazine knew the studio had acquired the rights to _Tattletale Tricks_ and anyone with half a brain would know they’d move fast on producing something in order to capitalize on its popularity.

            He entered the conference room and smiled at the few people milling around inside. He headed to a table at the side that was stacked with pastries, coffee, and tea. As he waited for the machine to pour out coffee, a voice said, “Fancy seeing you here.”

            Cas glanced over his shoulder to see Bela. He’d met her at the chemistry reads and had a photo shoot with her a week ago, but they hadn’t talked much. Even for the table read, she’d dressed to the nine’s in a black silk blouse and designer jeans. Her heels made her just his height.

            The coffee machine sputtered to a stop. Cas handed her the mug. “Nice to see you too, Bela.” He started another mug.

            As she sipped, she leaned back against the table. “You think this is going to go smoothly?”

            He glanced at her, watching her scan the room with a practiced eye. He’d spent all of three hours with her and already he knew she had a knack for reading people. Shrugging, he said, “My last role was opposite the guy my wife cheated on me with, so I don’t see how it could possibly be worse than that.”

            She chuckled and touched her hand to the inside of his elbow. “You’re not supposed to be funny,” she whispered. “That’s my job.”

            He rolled his eyes at her, grabbed his coffee, and followed her over to the table to find their spots. They ended up seated right next to each other – which made sense, given they were the leads – and Bela kept up a stream of conversation as they waited for more people to arrive. With every new arrival, she paused to greet someone she knew and introduce them to Cas. By the time the table read started, Cas could name everyone sitting around the table, their character, and at least one interesting fact about them, which made it so much harder to pay attention when the showrunner suggested that game as an icebreaker.

            When it got to his turn, he said, “I’m Castiel Novak. People call me Cas. I’m playing Mason Haverford and my interesting fact is...” he trailed off, unsure what exactly was interesting about him. He’d planned on saying something about his kids or maybe his hobbies, but Bela had said she’d gone to a private school where the headmaster had suspected her of murder.

            Bela touched his shoulder. “This is the man that tamed Dean Winchester.”

            Cas laughed along with the rest of the table. He blushed as a few of them whistled. Holding up his hands for silence, he said, “ _Tamed_ might not be the right word. Reined in, sure.”

            The game moved on to the next person and soon the showrunner started to read the narration leading into the script. When it came to his lines, Cas recited his opening monologue with confidence, “As you all know, we are here tonight to celebrate my father’s engagement to the lovely and talented, Miss Rebecca Strike.” He paused for applause – aka the reading of the applause direction – and continued, “Many of you may also know that she and my father have been together for a long time. Three years, to be exact. That’s a long time to wait for a ring, isn’t it, Rebecca?”

            The direction called for a nervous smile to grace Rebecca’s lips and Bela did so without skipping a beat.

            “But tonight is a special night. Not only because of my father’s engagement but because, as I’m sure you are all aware, I don’t usually give toasts. And when I do, it’s not for fun or celebration or because I’m just _so_ happy for my father and his new fiancé. No, I give toasts for one reason and one reason only. To knock you all down a peg.”

            The scene closed and the script moved into the past, six months earlier. Cas had no doubt that speech would come back in the season finale, when Mason’s father’s engagement party would serve as the final climax. That made him a little nervous – he’d need to nail the climactic scene during his first week on set, when he didn’t fully know the other actors or even his own character that well – but he swallowed his racing thoughts in order to focus on the scene at hand.

            They had a few bumps along the way – reworking dialogue, set description, blocking – but for the most part, the reading went smoothly. The showrunner asked them to stick around for a bit to play with certain scenes and where they could go. For half an hour, she split them up into small groups to work on scenes on their feet.

            By five, Cas had started to check the clock incessantly.

            “Somewhere to be?”

            He shifted his eyes to Bela. “Date night.”

            She smiled. “Might want to let him know you’ll be a little late.”

            The table read wrapped by six but someone suggested they go out for drinks as a cast, to get to know each other better. Cas checked the time, then his phone, and offered his apologies as the others tried to convince him to come along. As he stepped into the elevator, he texted Dean to let him know he was on his way, even as Bela gripped his hand and begged him to come along.

            “I’m sorry, guys,” Cas said, stepping out of the elevator ahead of them. He turned to face them with an apologetic smile and winked. “The wife is waiting.”

            He stepped away as they booed him, feeling not the least bit guilty. He’d be spending months by their sides, no doubt eating every meal with some of them, making out with others, and learning to hate almost all of them. And while he lived with Dean, he’d have to wait a month to have an opportunity to go out with him again. And even if he couldn’t explain the importance of this one night, couldn’t admit to the cast that this was their first date, he knew in his heart it was more important than downing shots at a dive bar down the street.

            As he exited the building, he looked up to see Dean standing on the sidewalk with a bouquet of sunflowers. Cas smiled wide and walked up to kiss him before looking down at the flowers. “What’s all this for?”

            “Thought I’d be classy and pick you up.”

            “You know I have a car for that, right?”

            “Sent him home.” Dean smiled. “After all, normal first dates don’t usually come with chauffeurs, do they?”

            “Most of mine have, actually.”

            “Yeah, ‘cause you’ve dated two people.”

            “Three.”

            “There’s a third?”

            Cas almost laughed but then nodded confidently. “I took a girl to my junior prom. Cassidy... something. Her dad chauffeured us.”

            Dean laughed. “That’s pathetic.” He kissed Cas with the smile still on his lips, then wrapped an arm around his waist and led him to the road. On the curb sat a monstrous motorcycle, the kind with the width of a four-wheeler, heavy enough to crush a small child.

            “You have a motorcycle.”

            “And like three cars.”

            “None of which you actually drive?”

            “Of course not.” Dean pulled a helmet off the handlebars and held it out to Cas. When Cas didn’t reach for it, he raised an eyebrow in question. “I can promise you that I’m a very safe driver.”

            Cas took the helmet. “When’s the last time you were even on this thing?”

            “I rode it over.”

            “Before that?”

            Dean shrugged noncommittally as he buckled up his own helmet and swung a leg over the bike. Not inspired by that response, Cas climbed on behind him and shifted so he was perched right behind Dean. His choice of transportation was suddenly lacking all subtlety. Cas could smell the aftershave on his cheeks, feel the warmth of their thighs brushing together, and, as he wrapped his hands around Dean’s waist, he felt every muscle of his back against his chest.

            “Think you’re pretty smooth, huh?” Cas whispered.

            Dean smirked. “I have my tricks.” Revving the engine, he took off down the street.

            The city whipped past them so fast that Cas had to close his eyes against the sudden wind. Cold seeped into his bones as they twisted through the city streets. He pressed closer to Dean, hoping to use his body heat as a blanket, but even he seemed chilly. The ride drew on and, eventually, the motorcycle slowed. Cas opened his eyes to see the outskirts of the city, buildings with peeling paint, and a few homeless men raising their heads to watch them.

            “Where are we?” Cas asked.

            “You’ll see.” Dean turned down a narrow alley, the motorcycle barely fitting through, and Cas’ legs scraped against the brick wall. He stopped at a metal door with no handle, flipped the kickstand, and got to his feet. He offered Cas a hand to make it off the bike.

            Cas shivered and blew on his fingertips. They had gone a concerning shade of purple on the ride over.

            Dean knocked on the metal door. The slit opened and he said, “The sun sets in the East.”

            The slit closed again.

            “It sets in the West,” Cas said.

            The door rattled, then slid off to the side to reveal a thin man with a gaunt face. He wore a tuxedo, which made Cas feel instantly underdressed, and held one arm behind his back. “Mr. Winchester,” he said with a gravelly voice, “and Mr. Novak.”

            Cas risked a glance at Dean, who smiled back at the thin man and reached out a hand. “Nice to see you again, Morty. I trust all of Cas’ credentials have gone through?”

            “I wouldn’t have opened the door if they hadn’t.” He turned on his heel, spurning Dean’s outstretched hand, and disappeared down a long, dark hallway.

            Dean finally met Cas’ concerned gaze. “Trust me,” he whispered before wrapping an arm around his hips and leading him into the building. The door slid shut behind them, trapping them in the warm but dim glow of a nearby candle. They started after Morty into the pitch black of the hallway and Cas turned in time only because Dean directed him around the corner with practiced ease. At the end of the corridor another light shone, illuminating Morty’s face like a kid about to tell a scary story.

            Cas gulped.

            “Mr. Novak,” Morty said with the gravity of an old-timey butler, “Welcome to the Grotto.”

            He opened a door and light flooded into the hallway. Beyond the arched doorway, a grove of trees grew in what seemed to be a real cave. The ceiling dripped intermittently on the moss-covered ground below. Cas’ shoes sunk and squelched with each step he took inside. Overhead, green trees with pink flowers arched across the ceiling, catching dew drops on their leaves. Fairy lights lit the space. And people – mostly people Cas recognized from work or the tabloids or movie posters – stood around at tall white tables or lounged in sofas as they sipped at neon coloured drinks and chatted amongst each other.

            Cas started when the door closed behind him.

            Dean chuckled. “You like it?”

            “Where are we?”

            A waitress in a black dress offered them a tray of cocktails. They both took one and thanked her before she stepped away. Cas sipped the bright blue liquid, tasted sugar and alcohol on his tongue. He coughed as it burned down the back of his throat.

            Dean patted him on the back and then gripped his shoulder to guide him through the crowd. “The Grotto is an underground club for famous people who don’t want to be seen,” he explained as they dodged a couple spinning across the dance floor. “They serve food, drinks, offer live music, and it’s a total secret. No one knows about it except the members, staff, and management.”

            Cas ducked under an outstretched branch and looked up as they emerged into a dining room with clustered tables. “It sounds too good to be true.”

            “It is,” Dean admitted. They took seats near the back of the room, not quite sitting across from each other at the small table. Dean placed his hand on Cas’ thigh. “The paparazzi knows it exists and when they catch wind of a location, the whole place has to up and move in a matter of hours. Sometimes it goes underground for weeks at a time. But it’s been here for a little over a month now.”

            “Seems like stretching our luck.”

            “You have a better place where they won’t find us?”

            Cas shook his head, letting himself smile back at Dean. He wanted to lean forward and kiss him but some part of him screamed _it’s the first date_ and he held back. Not that there was much use in pretending when Dean’s hand rested halfway up his thigh, his warm fingers curling across the inseam of his jeans.

            A waiter tried to hand them menus but Dean waved him off and ordered the tasting menu for both of them. Cas glanced over at him and, upon seeing the mischievous look on his face, said, “Let me guess. Trust you?”

            “You’re getting it.” Dean leaned in and kissed him.

            Cas kissed back for a moment before pulling back. He licked his lips and reached for his drink, carefully avoiding Dean’s curious eyes. “What do people talk about on first dates?” Cas said.

            Dean shrugged. “Things we already know about each other.” He reached for his own drink and downed half of it.

            “Do you have any nerves left in your throat?”

            He snorted and blue liquid shot out his nose. Cas handed him a napkin as he laughed, watched as he cleaned himself up. Dean raised an eyebrow. “You wanna find out?”

            “This is what you’re like on first dates?” Cas tried hard to contain his smile.

            “Pretty much.”

            He bit down harder but found he was unable to stop the laughter. He sipped at his drink again and let the light rumbling of classical music fall over him. If he unfocused his eyes, he could imagine he’d slipped into a fairytale or maybe down the rabbit hole into Wonderland. With just the right camera filter, this place could look like a fairy palace.

            Dean touched the inside of his elbow and Cas looked down as his fingers lingered there. His skin tickled. He met Dean’s eyes.

            “Why don’t you tell me about your parents?” Dean said. “You don’t talk about them much.”

            Cas shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. My mom passed away a few years ago. Heart attack. And my dad’s still in a nursing home in Maine.”

            “You ever visit him?”

            Cas chuckled, then felt bad about it so he shook his head. “He’s not... well. And in between the ranting sermons on the demons inside us all and what he will inevitably say if he recognizes me and has kept up with the current state of love life... I’d just rather not see him.” He dropped his eyes from Dean’s and stared at the red and white checkered tablecloth. “Does that make me a horrible person?”

            “No.” Dean squeezed his hand.

            “Because I can go see him. I can see my father whenever I want and I don’t because he’s sick and it makes me feel sick to see him like that.” Cas swallowed hard and blinked back the tears he hadn’t known were coming. “And I know I should just be a better son and suck it up and visit him but—”

            “Hey.” Dean grabbed his chin and forced him to look at him. “You don’t have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, okay? And if he doesn’t even know who you are, then you’re not offering him any comfort.”

            “Would you visit your dad? If he was still alive?”

            Dean pursed his lips and let his hand drop. “I don’t know.”

            Cas nodded.

            “He made a lot of mistakes after my mom died. And I hated him for it for a long time. I hadn’t spoken to him in over a year when he died.” He licked his lips and reached for his drink again. But he barely took a sip. “If he’d pulled through, maybe... things would be different. Maybe he’d change. But if he hadn’t changed, and he was still alive now, I don’t think I’d visit him. Not voluntarily. And I mean, if his mind was still intact and he recognized me and it meant visiting his house and not a nursing home, I wouldn’t visit him. I don’t forgive him for what he put Sam through.”

            Cas chewed on his tongue for a moment and then threaded his fingers through Dean’s. “What about what he put you through?”

            Dean stared at him for a long moment and then forced a smile. “This isn’t first date conversation.” He waved over the waiter, who was lingering a few feet away with two plates. The waiter set down the colourful salad, explained what it was, and then disappeared to refill their drinks.

            As Dean dug in, he spoke through the food in his mouth. “We should be quizzing each other on favourite colours and favourite movies—”

            Cas rolled his eyes. “I already know what your favourite movie is.”

            “ _Broadway Boys_ is a classic.”

            “And unfortunately, teenagers with Netflix all over the world agree with you.”

            “Claire didn’t.”

            “You did not make my daughter watch it.”

            “I didn’t _make_ her,” Dean hedged as he poked lettuce with his fork. “I simply suggested that it was a great marker of your talent when you were younger and that, since it’s on Netflix—”

            “It’s basically porn, Dean.”

            “You’re over exaggerating,” but the words rang false through the smirk on his lips. He licked sauce off the corner of his mouth. “What do you think this vinaigrette is made with?”

            Cas shrugged just as the waiter approached again with their drinks. He immediately recited the vinaigrette recipe with a level of preciseness that surprised Cas. When the man finished and walked away, Cas swallowed the bite in his mouth and said, “Did you get all that down?”

            “Siri tried.” Dean showed the note Siri had made on his phone which was half gibberish and a mess of autocorrect.

            Cas snorted and reached for his drink as he choked on a piece of lettuce. Burning alcohol wasn’t the best defence against choking, and he ended up having another coughing fit. Dean reached over and rubbed his back. “I forgot what a fucking lightweight you are,” he said softly.

            Between coughs, Cas said, “Fuck... you.”

            When the salads had been cleared away, the crab puffs eaten, and the main course half-finished, Cas felt happily tipsy which meant he had probably drank more than he should have. He tried to count how many glasses of the blue liquid he’d consumed but couldn’t keep it straight – if only the waiter had left the empty glasses for him to count. He almost asked for them back but Dean stopped him, laughing and placing a hand over his mouth.

            Cas looked over at Dean and saw the same drunken sparkle in his eyes. He knew Dean had drank more than him but he seemed closer to sober. Cas leaned forward, not really meaning to, and Dean caught him by the shoulder. “You gonna be okay?” he said. “We have two more courses. One of them’s coffee.”

            “Thank god,” Cas whispered, sounding so full of conviction he almost believed the words were a prayer on his lips. He glanced up to look in Dean’s eyes. “You’re eyes are so pretty. Like a Disney princess.”

            Dean laughed. “Why’d it take me so long to get you drunk again?”

            “Maybe because I ended up hungover in your bed last time?”

            “I don’t see any problem with that.” He kissed him then, slow and languid. Cas’ lips tingled from the sugar on the drinks’ rim and his tongue felt fuzzy from the alcohol. But kissing Dean drunk was a different experience than kissing him sober, like he was finally able to feel every part of his mouth.

            Cas broke the kiss. “Is this what it feels like to be high?”

            Dean’s laughter almost overtook him, the sound surrounding and shaking through him. Dean rubbed a hand along his cheek, guiding his mouth forward again. “No.” They kissed. “It feels very, very different.”

            “Show me sometime.”

            “Ask me again when you’re sober.”

            They kissed until their food got cold. Then Cas made a valiant effort to eat half a cold steak before pushing it away. As the waiter set down their desserts, Cas asked him to bring the coffee with it. He really needed to stop his head from spinning before he vomited all over the floor. He had no idea how they would go about cleaning vomit out of moss and dirt.

            He felt Dean’s hand on his thigh again, creeping upwards, warm and tingly. He shifted closer and pressed a kiss to Dean’s neck. Then, without much more thought, he turned towards the overflowing chocolate cake in front of him. He picked up a fork and started to eat.

            “The cake’s more interesting than me?”

            “I can taste you whenever I want,” Cas said between bites. “This cake though...” He let out a dramatic moan just to hear Dean laugh.

            The coffee came soon and, while Cas knew it wouldn’t sober him up, he hoped at the very least he could count on the placebo affect even when he didn’t believe in it. He sipped the coffee black, too lazy to ask for cream and sugar, plus the sweetness of the cake offset the bitterness of the brew. By the time he had started to scrape liquid fudge off the bottom of the plate, he felt at least a little more confident that he could trust his legs.

            While Dean paid, he said, “Ready to call it a night?”

            Cas looked up at him with a sudden jolt of panic. “You drove here.”

            He laughed. “Yes. And?”

            “You’re drunk. We’re... drunk.”

            Dean leaned in and kissed him, like that alone would be enough to quell his rising panic. “They’ll bring a car around,” he whispered, his fingers curling through Cas’ hair. “And miraculously my motorcycle will end up right back in the garage.”

            “We have a garage?”

            He felt Dean’s smile scrape his lips as they kissed again. Then, Dean pulled back and Cas whined as he was pulled to his feet. They made their way back through the fairy lights, leaning into each other and doing a much worse job of dodging the crowd. Morty appeared again to lead them through the lightless hallway. This time he turned on his phone flashlight so they didn’t run into a wall.

            When they got outside, they stumbled out of the alley and towards the main road. Cas leaned back against the concrete building and closed his eyes. Soon, Dean’s lips pressed against his and he opened his mouth to let him in, their tongues sliding together in lazy, drunken kisses. Dean’s hips pressed into his own and Cas hummed in appreciation as he slid his hands down Dean’s sides.

            The car pulled up and they tumbled into the backseat. Dean lay down on top of Cas as the car rumbled forward. Cas tried to mutter something about seatbelts but lost his train of thought as Dean sucked at his neck. Strong fingers cupped his crotch, stroking him through the denim, and Cas fought back the groan working its way up his throat.

            “Dean,” he managed, the word barely loud enough to hear. “Dean, please.”

            “Please what, babe?” His words got muffled as he pressed kisses around Cas’ belly button, his free hand pushing up Cas’ shirt.

            “I don’t...” Cas took a deep breath to steady himself and closed his eyes against the dim lights flashing past outside. “I don’t do this sort of thing on the first date.”

            Dean chuckled, his teeth scraping Cas’s skin. “There’s always time for a new first.”

            “Dean...” Cas gripped the back of his neck and coaxed him upwards. As Dean settled his body back down, his hips flush with Cas’, Cas had to bite his tongue to keep back an embarrassing sound. With effort, he met Dean’s incredulous gaze. “This isn’t me. I don’t sleep with people on the first date.”

            Dean smiled back at him and ran his hand up his bare chest. “You don’t have to prove a point, you know. Just because _you_ didn’t know it, doesn’t mean _I_ haven’t known this whole time that you would spread your legs on our first date. I’m just that good.”

            Cas laughed in spite on himself. “That’s what I’m telling you. You’re not that good.”

            The car braked suddenly, rocking them both, and Cas reached out to steady Dean by the hip. Dean nodded slowly as he caught his breath. “I really don’t know why you’re lying to me right now.” He rolled his hips and Cas tasted blood from where his teeth scraped through his tongue. Dean moved one hand to steady himself and started to grind down in earnest. “You’ve already slept with me.”

            “Not on the first date.”

            “Not when we met in that hotel in Banff, not when we made out like teenagers outside that club, not even when I offered to blow you in the kitchen.” Dean ran a finger over his lower lip. “Let me win just one, okay?”

            “Okay.”

            Dean kissed him again just as the car made a sharp turn. He tumbled off of Cas, onto the hard floor of the car, and groaned in a decidedly less pleasant manner. Holding back laughter, Cas shifted into a sitting position before offering Dean a hand up. “Maybe we should wait until we make it back.”

            “Goody two-shoes.”

            Cas kissed him as he reached over to buckle him into the middle seat. He shifted far enough over to press their thighs together and ignored the awkward angle of his neck as they kissed. The seatbelts severely limited their ability to grope each other but, considering his whole body was buzzing, maybe that was a good thing. He doubted the Grotto would appreciate come on their leather seats anymore than they would puke on their garden floor.

            The car rolled to a stop outside Dean’s house. A cluster of photographers jumped to their feet as Cas looked out the window. “Déjà vu, much?”

            “We don’t have to make out in front of them, you know.”

            Cas frowned. “But that would mean making it ten feet without kissing you.”

            “You’re a fucking dork.” Dean kissed him but this time it was Cas who pushed him back through the door. He wasn’t quite sure how he managed it – as drunk as he was, he barely had control of his legs, let alone enough power to push through a crowd of photographers. But with Dean’s firm grasp on his hips, they made their way to the door and then Dean turned to open it. Cas kissed the back of his neck, wrapping himself around him as they stumbled inside.

            Dean stepped away from him. “Let’s go upstairs.”

            Cas whined. “Since when do you care about making it to the bedroom?”

            He smirked. “Since it’s our first date.” He kissed him quick but heavy, then pulled away licking his lips. “Did you slice your tongue open trying to keep a straight face earlier?”

            “Maybe.”

            Dean looped a finger through Cas’ belt loop and pulled him up the stairs. He stayed a foot or so away, walking backwards the whole time, and Cas had just enough time to appreciate how sure-footed he was drunk before they reached the bedroom, Dean let go, and he took off his shirt. Then Cas had other things to appreciate, like his smooth stomach, strong shoulders, and the line of dark hairs disappearing below his waistband. He stepped forward and let his fingers trail over the hairs.

            Dean simply stared at him, gaze heady, as he dipped his hand into his boxers. He wrapped his hand around his cock, half-hard and already leaking, and stepped forward to kiss him. Dean kissed lazily now, his tongue heavy. He lifted Cas’ shirt over his head, breaking the kiss, and then pushed him back towards the bed.

            Cas went down with a thump. As Dean pulled away from him, Cas wiggled out of his pants and up onto the pillows. He leaned back into them and watched as Dean pulled the lube out of the drawer. He tossed it onto the bed and then took off his own pants before straddling Cas on the bed. Cas arched upwards to catch his lips in a kiss as his ass settled onto Cas’ thighs.

            Cas reached for the lube and rubbed it between his fingers as they kissed. Then, he stroked the lube onto Dean’s cock, working his fingers slowly and gently, knowing how close they both were. As Dean whimpered against his lips, Cas did his best to swallow the sounds.

            “Get on your back,” Cas whispered.

            Dean rolled off him without a complaint and Cas waited a moment, too comfortable in the pillows to move, before moving to straddle him. He spread more lube onto his fingers and reached backwards to finger himself. Immediately, it was clear to him that he was tighter than he usually was. But he bit down on his bottom lip and pressed one finger inside, curling and swirling it to stretch himself open.

            As he added another finger, Dean’s hands stroked up his thighs. He grabbed his ass just as Cas curled his fingers and a shaky moan broke out of his lips. His eyes fluttered open to see Dean smiling up at him. “You look so good like this, babe.”

            Cas tried to laugh off the comment but he felt it break through his whole body, the blush rushing up his thighs and reddening even his stomach. He added a third finger for just a moment before pulling out his hand and wiping the excess lube on the sheets. Before Dean could complain – the look on his face as he turned his head spoke paragraphs – Cas took his dick in his hand and slowly guided himself down onto it.

            Dean groaned, his eyes fluttering closed. Cas bit his bottom lip as he settled down, feeling the stretch with every inch. When he finally settled all the way down, he paused for a long moment, his thighs already burning. He crept his fingers up the length of Dean’s chest slowly and dragged his nails through the few, light hairs there.

            “You gonna move?” Dean asked after a second.

            “Maybe.” He pulled up just a bit before settling back down. He bit his tongue to stop from groaning. “You’ll have to be patient.”

            “I fucking hate you.”

            “The feeling’s mutual.” He clutched Dean’s shoulder and dug his nails in. As Dean gasped, Cas rose up and then back down again. He couldn’t keep the sound off his lips this time as pleasure swirled through him and, without another thought, he stopped torturing them both.

            He rode Dean in quick, short thrusts, keeping a steady grip on his shoulder. Dean kept up a steady chorus of curses as Cas tried his hand at prayer to keep his composure. Dean grasped at his ass, kneading it in his hands as his hips tried to stutter upwards. Cas used his other hand to hold him down, waves of pleasure bursting through his body as he finally got the angle right and hit his prostate.

            Cas let out a wild moan almost like a shout and was disappointed, but not surprised, when he started to come. He rode Dean through the aftershocks, his whole body shaking and his thighs trembling, and just when he thought he might collapse, Dean came too, wet and hot inside him. Cas clenched his ass as his breathing wavered and forced himself to stay upright while Dean thrust up into him. Slowly, Cas let his grip on Dean’s shoulder relax.

            As he rolled off of him, he felt come start to drip down the backs of his thighs. Breathing heavy, he lay on his back and tried to force his eyes to focus again. But between the alcohol and his orgasm, his whole body felt like jelly. Dean reached out a shaking hand and intertwined their fingers, squeezing tight. Cas forced his heavy breaths to match Dean’s as his heart pounded in his ears.

            “We should shower,” Dean said after a few minutes.

            “No.”

            “At least go to the bathroom.”

            “No.”

            Dean rolled into him, his weight and heat suddenly overwhelming Cas. He smelled like sweat and sex and sugary alcohol. Cas’ stomach rolled. Dean kissed his cheek, then his jaw, and nuzzled against his neck as he whispered, “You’ll feel terrible in the morning.”

            Cas tasted acid in his throat and he sat up quick, knocking Dean away from him. Dean let out a surprised exclamation just as Cas leaned forward and puked between his legs. He coughed out the rest of the acrid spit in his mouth then stared blankly at the mess before him. He felt Dean sit up behind him, press up against his back.

            “Now will you shower?”


	55. Chapter 55

Dean remembered that three day hangover with affection as February rolled around. He’d lost two days in the studio because of it and gotten yelled at by both Chuck and Charlie – Chuck, because he’d gotten that drunk and there weren’t even any good tabloid headlines from it, and Charlie, because Cas had missed two interviews and a set tour. But Dean mostly remembered staying in bed with Cas, arguing about who’s turn it was to get up and get soup or ginger ale or more water, and kissing him with breath that smelled nothing like toothpaste.

            He’d gotten a song out of it. A song Chuck claimed was “too disgusting to force people to listen to” but Dean had convinced him to turn up the guitars and the drums until the lyrics were almost indistinguishable. The song sounded as his head had felt during those three days. The lyrics – mostly about sex, vomit, and hating the sun – were lost to the thumping bass line.

            Dean nodded along as the song played through. “Okay,” he said. “I think we’re done with that one.”

            “You don’t want to tweak the lead guitar a little?” the producer asked as he swung from side to side in his chair. “It’s sounding a little screechy.”

            “Nah, it’s fine.” Dean knew as soon as he said it that Chuck or Mr. Roman would ultimately disagree though. So he said, “How soon can you get a studio musician in to re-record it?”

            He shrugged. “A couple hours? You could just play it yourself.”

            The last thing Dean wanted to do was play the lead guitar on a track that sounded like the inside of a pinball machine but he relented. He liked the song, liked the way it sounded like something a teenager would blast through their walls when in a rebellious mood, but he didn’t want his skills put into question because of it. He walked into the studio, picked up his electric guitar, and spent a moment re-tuning it to the song before he nodded at the producer to start recording. It took several tries to get the right sound without the screech and, by the time it was finished, Chuck had arrived.

            Dean slung the headphones around his neck and stepped out into the main room. “Still don’t trust me to make a track by myself?”

            Chuck gave him a thin smile. “We have something else to talk about, actually.” He shot a look at the producer out of the corner of his eye.

            “Give us a minute?” Dean asked and the man nodded then left the room. Dean looked back at Chuck as he leaned against the studio door. “I haven’t done anything else stupid and failed to get photographed. I promise.”

            “The problem is that you _aren’t_ getting photographed. At all.”

            “That’s just not true. You’re welcome to visit my front lawn if you want.”

            “Those pictures aren’t selling because they’re boring as shit.” Chuck flopped down into the chair and spun it all the way around once before putting out his foot to drag it to a stop. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and looked up at Dean. “The label’s happy you’re no longer a liability. And they love your new album. But now they’re worried they won’t be able to sell it.”

            “Meaning?”

            “Meaning they’ve barely had to spend money on you in the past,” Chuck said. “A billboard here, a promotional event there, but you’ve been front and centre in the public eye without even trying. And now you’re fading into obscurity. And they’re worried about the amount of money they’ll have to spend to make you a household name again and to get your album to go gold, let alone platinum.”

            “You’re kidding.”

            He sighed. “I’m not.”

            “Those assholes wanted this,” Dean snapped. “They’re the ones who told me to cool my jets, to clean up my act, to play the All-American Boy with Cas. And now you’re telling me I’m too boring for them? That they’d rather have a lawsuit than spend a little money to promote my album?”

            “Your image is your biggest asset. You know that.”

            “Fuck that.” He pushed off the door and started to pace. “So what? They force me back into the image they hate and then cut off my contract as soon as they’re legally able to? Do they even want to keep me? Do they even want to produce my music? Or are they just making up new bullshit ways to get rid of me as they go? How many flaming fucking hoops do they want me to jump through?”

            Chuck raised his hands in surrender. “I’m not arguing with you. It’s a tough line to walk, but they want you to get your notoriety back without pushing into the point of liability. Be a risk-taker, a bad influence, a walking scandal but don’t get hurt, don’t make people whisper about how you should be in rehab, and don’t get anyone else hurt in the process.”

            Dean slowed and looked Chuck in the eye. “So, stage it all?”

            Chuck nodded.

            He licked his lips, considering. “You tell Sam about this?”

            “He’s my next call.”

            “Fine.” Dean grabbed his jacket off the hook on the wall and headed for the door. “Let me know what he says.”

            He had the car go the long way home, avoiding busy streets in favour of crawling by the beach. In the dead of winter, only a few brave souls strolled by the waterfront as the waves frothed. Dean asked the driver to stop and then simply sat with his forehead against the window, watching the world move on without him.

            Eventually, he made it back home. Mainly because the driver had told him he needed to pick someone else up and, even with everything Chuck had said, Dean didn’t want to be a dick just for the sake of being a dick. He waved to the photographers as he headed inside, both annoyed and relieved that only a few flashbulbs went off.

            He closed the front door too hard then fell back against it with a sigh.

            “Rough day?”

            Dean opened one eye to see Cas on the couch, a script resting open against his legs. For a moment, Dean just took him in – blue sweatpants, stained white t-shirt, just the hint of a smile – and then he said, “You’re home early.”

            “Negotiations are going well, apparently.” He flipped the page. “Charlie said she’d handle it.”

            Dean stepped away from the door and flopped down beside Cas on the couch. Their thighs brushed together and Dean scooted closer, reaching out to flatten down the page before Cas could. “This is the script?”

            “Yes.” Cas pulled away the pages. “The one you _know_ you’re not allowed to see.”

            He smiled back at him and ran a hand through Cas’ hair, coaxing him closer. With their noses brushing, lips less than an inch apart, he whispered, “Who am I gonna tell?”

            “The whole world.” Cas’ words got muffled when Dean kissed him but he pushed him off quick, a big smile on his lips. “I thought you were going to be in the studio all day. And all night.”

            “I thought the pilot was done shooting.”

            Cas sighed and let his head fall onto Dean’s shoulder. “It’s a big deal. They’re doing reshoots to match the author’s vision but they’re not sure how to do that without losing the network’s support. This is the third revised script I’ve gotten this week.”

            Dean trailed his fingers up the back of Cas’ neck. “There’s no reason to keep working when the album might not even sell.”

            Cas said nothing but tilted his head up to look at him.

            “Chuck says my reputation has changed so much that the label is worried about selling albums. They think I have an image problem even though they were the ones who told me to chill out in the first place.”

            “Maybe they meant ‘don’t have threesomes in public places’ and not ‘move in with your boyfriend and spend Friday nights watching Netflix.’”

            Dean chuckled. “Something like that.”

            “We could go out.”

            He looked down at him, curled into the crook of his shoulder, and shook his head. “Chuck’s calling Sam so they can work together to stage some dumbass press stunt.”

            “Dean Winchester is going to wait to see what his publicist wants him to do?” Cas pulled back, an incredulous look on his face. “Wow. I just don’t know if you’re the man I fell for anymore.”

            Dean flipped him off.

            Cas stood up and walked around the couch. He wrapped his arms around Dean from behind, leaning into him and letting his hands trails down his chest. He kissed the shell of his ear. “Take me out,” he whispered. “I’m bored.”

            “You’re bored?”

            Cas hummed in assent as he kissed down Dean’s jaw.

            Dean turned his head towards him, capturing his lips in a kiss. “I can think of something we can do right here to fix that. Don’t even have to leave the house.”

            Cas stepped back and shook his head. “I don’t see how that would help with your reputation. Not unless you want to fuck up against the windows.”

            Dean glanced towards the curtains.

            “Come on. We haven’t been out since our first date. And we’ve barely even seen each other since. I’ve been cooped up reading scripts and signing contracts and reshooting a pilot that’s not even fifty minutes long. I am losing my goddamn mind.”

            “When did you become the irresponsible one?”

            “Maybe you changed me.”

            “Maybe I shouldn’t have.” Dean got up off the couch anyways. As he walked around, he hooked a finger under the waistband of Cas’ sweatpants and dragged him towards the stairs. “If this is for my reputation, you’re not going out wearing that.”

 

Ninety minutes later, dressed in tight jeans, clean t-shirts, and leather jackets, Dean and Cas were downtown. Dean kept his fingers loosely intertwined with Cas’ as he scanned the neon signs and tried to figure out where he wanted to go. Every club looked busy. Nowhere looked new. And Dean had been away from the scene long enough that he didn’t know where to go, wasn’t sure where he’d be photographed and where he’d just be ignored. The last thing he wanted was to ignore Chuck’s advice to wait for Sam and end up in some lame club being made fun of by the tabloids for trying too hard.

            “According to Yelp, the hottest club is _Triple X_.”

            Dean glanced over at Cas’ phone screen. “That’s a strip club.”

            “It’s the hottest club.”

            “Googling ‘the hottest club in downtown L.A.’ isn’t exactly a mastery of search engine optimization.” Dean took the phone out of his hands and exited the page before hitting a bookmark for a tabloid news site. He scrolled through a couple of posts before hitting the search bar and simply typing in _clubbing_.

            Dozens of posts returned within seconds and Dean changed the order of the results to newest first. Seven out of the first ten posts featured a club named _Rattlesnake_ just a few blocks away. Dean double-checked the people being mentioned in the article – no use going somewhere hot if it was only populated with B-listers – and, satisfied, handed Cas back his phone.

            “This way,” he said, taking a turn down a side street.

            Cas had quieted down between leaving the house and getting out of the Uber. Dean half-wondered if that was an effect of the chilly night or the unusual crowd for a Tuesday. Either way, he resisted the urge to ask Cas if he was okay, if he wanted to go home, if he’d changed his mind. Certainly Cas was capable of speaking up on his own. And he’d offered to come out and help Dean play the bad boy.

            A few shots had already been taken of them out on the street. Dean did his best to ignore the camera flashes. Seeing him out on a Tuesday night was something, at least, but he knew he had to do something bigger to gain real attention. Maybe he needed to leave that part to Sam. Maybe all he had to do tonight was be seen at the right place, at the right time. That would at least give Sam something to work off of after months of radio silence.

            Dean heard _Rattlesnake_ before he saw it. A line of chattering club goers wrapped around the building, shouting and laughing. The music pounded through the air – a strange remix of some pop-country hit that gave it a better beat to dance to. As they rounded the front of the building, he looked up at the giant glowing sign. Every letter was painted like snake skin.

            “A country bar?” Cas said.

            Dean shrugged. “Lohan, Kendricks, and the Kardashian-Wests have all been seen here in the past week.” He stepped past the people in line and up to the bouncer. “Excuse me—”

            “Back of the line.”

            He blinked. “I’m sorry. Maybe you wanna look at me and say that again?”

            The man glanced his way, quickly scanned him up and down, then smiled thinly as he looked back at the clipboard in his hand. “That trick works best for twenty year-old girls in short skirts, bud. I’m not looking for middle-aged twinks.”

            Dean’s hand curled into a fist. Cas reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him back a step. “Let’s go, babe. Find somewhere a little more... accepting.”

            The bouncer looked back up at his whispered tone, no doubt about to make a sassy remark, and then paused. He looked from Cas to Dean and back again. “Oh, you’re...” He swallowed hard and stepped to the side. “Welcome, Mr. Novak. Mr. Winchester.”

            Dean brushed past him without a word, biting his tongue to stop from either saying something stupid or decking the guy. He heard Cas on his heels until the music overwhelmed him and he heard nothing past the pounding of the bass. He made a beeline for the bar, shoved in between some shouting patrons, and started to shout himself.

            It took him twenty minutes to get someone’s attention, so he ordered a dozen shots with an annoyed grin. The bartender barely gave a shit. Cas sidled up beside him as some of the crowd cleared and stared silently at the side of his face.

            “Since when do I have to be with you to get recognized?” Dean bit out.

            “We’re a unit now. People don’t expect one of us without the other.”

            “Well, that’s not exactly great for my image.”

            “I can go, if you want.”

            Dean sighed, letting his eyes flutter closed. “No. Don’t...” He looked back at Cas, who stood a step away like Dean might just bite his head right off if he came any closer. The bartender set down the shots and walked away without a word.

            “Don’t what?”

            “You convinced me to come out. Why are you moping?”

            Cas shrugged. “I guess it didn’t hit me until we left the house that I’m not twenty anymore and I really hate clubs.”

            Dean laughed and clinked their shots together. After downing his, he sputtered and said, “You did not choose a good boyfriend, you know that?”

            “I didn’t exactly choose you.”

            “Guess you didn’t.” Dean downed the second shot, then a third, and burped into a closed fist. He closed his eyes for a second, waiting for the alcohol to hit him, but he felt no different as he looked down at the eight remaining shots. He glanced at Cas. “You have anything to do early tomorrow morning?”

            “Not that I know of.”

            “I’ll be right back.” He squeezed Cas’ shoulder as he stepped away from the bar and pushed through the crowd. Even late on a Tuesday night, the club was packed. Girls jumped on the dance floor, screaming the lyrics to the Top 40. Guys leaned up against the bar, their eyes lingering on exposed thighs and low-cut necklines. Dean bumped into a girl in a tigh pink dress, who pressed up against him as she apologized and batted her eyelashes.

            He extricated himself and headed towards the bathrooms. Like any club bathroom, the doors were stuffed down a side hall that hadn’t been paid the same attention as the rest of the space. The tile went from glossy to paint-splattered. The space glowed with a warm light from a flickering bulb. And the doors were a plain, unadorned wood with simply the letters M and W on them.

            Dean pushed into the men’s bathroom and the noise of the club immediately died down. He glanced towards the empty urinals, then towards the brown stall doors. He walked to the locked stall second from the end and rapped his knuckles against it.

            “Occupado!”

            “Don’t play,” Dean said as he stepped away from the door. “You’re not dealing with amateurs anymore.”

            The door creaked open and Garth poked his head out, looking from side to side as if he thought the FBI might be on his tail. Satisfied that the room was empty, he stepped out and hugged the breath out of Dean. “Dean! My man! What brings you back to my offices?”

            “What brings your offices across town without you telling me?”

            “You found me.” Garth shrugged. “Thought that new boyfriend of yours had you sober anyways.”

            Guilt pricked at Dean’s stomach. He shoved it down, shoved five layers of worry on top of it, and said, “I’m not here for the strong stuff. Just want to loosen up and have a little fun.”

            “Ecstasy?”

            Dean nodded.

            Garth dug into his pockets, pulled out several small bags, and started to shift through them. When he found the right bag, he popped it open and poured several blue pills into the palm of his hand. “How many you want?”

            “Just two.”

            “Just two? You’re killing me.”

            Dean stared at him.

            “You don’t get the bulk discount.”

            “Like you give me any discount.” Dean took two pills from him, stuffed them in his pocket, and then pulled out his wallet. He tucked two twenties into Garth’s jacket pocket and stepped back with a sarcastic salute.

            As soon as he left the bathroom, everything felt too loud. Dean shook off the sensation and fingered the pills in his pocket. His stomach curled in on itself. His heart beat louder. By the time he joined Cas back at the bar, his jaw had locked and two more shots were gone.

            “I gave them to a bachelorette party,” Cas said at Dean’s curious look. “Otherwise they would have kept bugging me about their scavenger hunt.”

            Dean popped one of the pills into his mouth and swallowed it down with a shot.

            “Dean?”

            “Do you remember...” He sighed and then forced himself to look Cas in the eyes. If he was going to ask him to do this, he wouldn’t be a coward about it. He rolled the second pill in his palm and then showed it to Cas. “You asked me what being high felt like.”

            Cas’ jaw dropped.

            “You don’t have to.”

            “What is it?”

            “Ecstasy.”

            Cas stared at the palm of his hand for a long time. Dean’s fingers twitched. He wanted to say something, reassure Cas or promise him nothing would change, one way or another, but every phrase that came to mind sounded like a thinly veiled attempt to pressure him. So he waited through the deafening silence of Cas’ stare as the song changed from some upbeat pop duet to his own single. He saw the corner of Cas’ mouth twitch up into a smile.

            “I did ask that, didn’t I?” He met Dean’s eyes.

            Dean shrugged. “You could go your whole life not knowing.”

            “I trust you.” Cas took the pill and washed it down with a shot. He winced at the burn of the alcohol and opened his eyes with a sour expression. “How long?”

            “Depends.”

            “We should get water.”

            Dean snorted, trying to hide his smile, and then ignored Cas’ protests that he knew ecstasy had a dehydrating effect as Dean waved down the bartender. He shelled out seventeen dollars for two bottles of water half the size of normal bottles and then grabbed Cas’ hand. He pulled him out onto the dance floor, abandoning the last of their shots, and wrapped his arms around his waist.

            When Cas tried to ask again how long it would take, Dean kissed him and whispered, “Patience.” Then he kissed him again, amazed at the soft feeling of his lips and the sparking connection of their tongues. He gripped the back of Cas’ neck and pulled him in closer, grinding up against him as the music sped up.

            Cas laughed against his lips. “I think I feel it. I think I’m feeling it.”

            Dean kissed him through his laughter, kissed him right up until he pulled away. He reached for Cas, trying to pull him closer, but Cas danced out of his grasp, moving further onto the dance floor. Dean chased after him, catching him around the waist only once he had reached the middle of the floor. Cas looked up at the cowboy hat-shaped disco ball with awe in his eyes.

            “I can see rainbows.”

            Dean kissed his neck and let his teeth scrape against his skin. In seconds, Cas was kissing him again and the world fell into technicolour. The music invaded his senses, spilling through his veins, and Dean broke the kiss to shout the lyrics into the sky. Cas joined in, their voices mixing, until Dean felt lost, lost, found.


	56. Chapter 56

“Are you watching that again?”

            Cas flinched at Dean’s voice but then relaxed back into the armchair. He’d curled up under a blanket and made himself into as small of a ball as possible. “It’s a different one, I think,” he said.

            The chair shifted slightly as Dean leaned against it. “It’s not,” he said. His finger pointed at the blurry couple in the background. “Those two were in the last one you watched, doing the same thing.”

            “This is a different angle.” Cas moved the video forward with his finger, fast-forwarding through the parts he already knew – the two of them grinding on the dance floor, the karaoke version of Bohemian Rhapsody they’d led from on top of the bar, and Dean teaching the crowd to line dance while Cas sat on the edge of the stage calling out fake names for the steps. Several commenters had pointed out that was for square dancing, not line dancing, but that barely added to Cas’ embarrassment.

            He stopped when he saw something new. “I rode a mechanical bull.” The video blurred a bit but he still saw himself slip right off the leather monstrosity as soon as it started. “Did you even know that club had a mechanical bull?”

            Dean laughed. “Not a clue.”

            Dean came onto the screen then, crawling over the ropes to get to Cas. He lay down on top of him and kissed him hard on the mouth, before moving his mouth downwards, promising to “kiss away the hurt.”

            “Oh god.” Cas looked away from the phone. “Please tell me you don’t—”

            Dean grabbed the phone and cut the video. When he handed it back to Cas, it was on the home screen and he’d force-closed the Twitter app. “I won’t tell you,” he said and patted Cas’ shoulder in a friendly way.

            Cas stared at the apps on his phone until the screen faded and then went black. He sighed and buried his face in his hands, trying to block out all the blurry memories that had somehow stuck with him. Half the time he wasn’t sure what was a memory and what he had seen emerge from Twitter in the last two days.

            “I’ve got to go, babe.” Dean stepped in front of him as he pulled on his jacket, his eyes concerned. “You’re going to be all right here?”

            Cas forced a smile. “Unless Charlie kills me.”

            “Good thing you know self-defence.” Dean kissed him quick, then headed out the door. Before it slammed behind him, Cas heard the clamour of the paparazzi on the front lawn, the shouted questions and quick camera flashes. He glanced towards the windows, just to check that the blinds were still firmly shut.

            Slowly, Cas uncurled himself from the armchair and went about getting ready for the day. Not that he had much to do that day. Sam had been clear on the phone Wednesday morning – don’t leave the house unless it’s absolutely necessary, let him handle the fallout. And he still hadn’t gotten the all clear to leave the house. Dean had. Dean could go wherever he wanted. Dean was welcome to act like a hedonistic asshole and then just go about his day as if nothing had changed.

            Cas took too long of a shower, dressed in his sweats, and headed downstairs to make another pot of coffee. He had left his phone on the living room table and could hear it buzz. He didn’t need to look at it to know it was Charlie warning him of her approach. He closed his eyes against the dread curling its way through his intestines and listened to the gentle drip of the coffee pot.

            The front door opened and he startled. Past that, he didn’t move.

            Footsteps approached, then stopped. Cas opened his eyes to look at the coffee machine, willing it to drip slower, but it sputtered to a stop almost instantly. _Traitor_. Cas grabbed the handle and poured coffee all the way to the brim of his mug. He sipped at it without waiting, burning his tongue but swallowing through the pain.

            “Are you going to look at me?”

            Cas wanted to burrow deep into the ground and not come up until winter was over. But, he turned around and met Charlie’s eyes with as neutral of an expression as he could manage. Given that he hadn’t shaved in two days and had recently burned his tongue, he doubted he was doing a great job at acting like everything was okay. He’d already been part of a “serious discussion” with Sam and been outright yelled at by Kelly. At least Charlie hadn’t booked the first flight back to L.A. to lecture him when he was still coming down and coffee had tasted like ash.

            “What the fuck were you thinking?”

            Cas shrugged. “Dean needed to boost his image. We went clubbing.”

            “Cute. You think you can lie to me.”

            “I’m not lying.”

            “You were high,” Charlie snapped the words like she wanted to stab him with them. “On a Tuesday night. Between the live streams and your Twitter followers, the world knew about it in _seconds_. Your kids knew. Your producers knew. The tabloids knew. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

            Cas licked his lips. “I wasn’t high.” The lie sounded thin to his own ears.

            She blinked at him. “There’s a thirty second video that’s nothing but you yelling, ‘I took ecstasy’ over and over and over again. Some asshole made a music video out of it. It’s a popular reaction gif, not that it makes _any_ sense as a reaction gif, but don’t expect the internet to make sense.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorway. “So do you want to try this again but tell me the truth this time?”

            Cas wanted to not have this conversation. He wanted to have already had this conversation three or four days ago or maybe a century ago. As the possibility of time travel lingered in his mind, he sipped his coffee and rounded the counter. He hoisted himself up onto one of the stools and buried his face in his mug.

            Charlie entered the room and slammed her hands down on the counter. “ _Please_ tell me that the only excuse you have for your behaviour is _not_ ‘but Dean’s reputation.’”

            He shifted his jaw and looked up at her blankly.

            “Don’t let him drag you into his bad press black hole.”

            “That’s not fair.”

            “You’re reputation is all you fucking have.” Her eyes flashed with fire and fury. “Or do I have to remind you that your comeback movie isn’t even out yet? That the cast for your TV show hasn’t even been _announced_ yet? You are getting offers based off of your reputation.”

            “I’m getting offers because I’m Dean Winchester’s boyfriend,” Cas snapped. He hated the anger that bubbled up in him almost as much as he hated the instantaneous urge to vomit. Closing his eyes, he licked his lips and added in a more measured tone, “So don’t you think it’s good for my reputation to be seen with him?”

            She shook her head. “You don’t get it. Dean’s allowed to be a wild card. As long as makes music and doesn’t kill anyone, the label doesn’t give a half a fuck what he does to wind up in magazines. But if you, an _actor_ , get a reputation as difficult and lazy and substance-dependent—”

            “You are blowing this way out of proportion.”

            “You are missing the damn point!” she shouted. “If you keep this up—”

            “It was one fucking night. So calm the fuck down.”

            He met her measured glare with one of his own. He had very little experience staring Charlie down and even less experience being on the opposite side of an argument with her. Silence trickled through the kitchen, the stove crackling as it cooled down and the coffee machine whirring as it tried to keep the water boiled.

            Then, Charlie sighed. She rested her elbows on the counter, her chin in her hand, and looked at him with something approaching genuine concern. Cas could almost feel his heart break.

            “I just want you happy,” she said. “Happy and famous and with your kids. Can you understand why this behaviour concerns me?”

            “Yes.” Cas reached across the counter and touched her arm. The contact felt awkward and familiar all at once. He pulled back. “But Dean makes me happy. And you don’t like him. Can you understand why I feel like you’re attacking him?”

            “Because I am?” She shrugged. “He’s not good for you.”

            “You made me do this. I didn’t want to.”

            “And I wanted to pull you.” She stepped back from the counter as her voice rose again and sighed. Running a hand through her hair, she said, “Look, Sam’s on damage control. And he’s doing a damn good job. So if you won’t listen to me, maybe listen to him when he tells you not to do dumb shit without running it by him first.”

            Cas nodded.

            She left the room for a moment and came back with her bag. She dug through it until she found her iPad. Unlocking it, she flipped through her email folder until she got to the one she wanted. She placed the device in front of Cas and zoomed in on the calendar PDF. “These are the finalized dates for the _Dreaded Darkness_ press tour.

            “The pink dates are the interviews you have with Balthazar.” She pinched the screen to blow up the five dates in March highlighted in pink. “I did my best to keep them limited but you are the leads. So you’re going to have to do some press together. Blue are the interviews you’re doing alone. Yellow is for group interviews and events. And white is for the unconfirmed dates where you may or may not be with Dean.”

            Cas raised an eyebrow.

            “His team hasn’t confirmed that he’s available.”

            “I could just ask him.”

            She shook her head and pulled the iPad back. “It’s a bunch of red tape, mostly. Dean won’t be able to get his press team to move any faster than I have.” She tapped around on the screen a few more times as she spoke. “The first couple of interviews are in town at the end of the month. After that, you’re doing all the big talk shows and events across the country.”

            “Big push for a horror movie.”

            Charlie slipped her iPad back into her bag. “They’re excited to have you back on screen. And they spent a lot of money to make this film.” She glanced up at him again. “Don’t give them a reason to regret that.”

            Cas bit his tongue to stop from saying something he’d regret. Instead, he simply inclined his head as Charlie left the room again and then exited the house to the sound of clamouring reporters. He wondered if on the way in or out she’d offered a sound bite to defend him. As he glanced towards the covered windows, he wondered if he’d ever be allowed out of the house again.


	57. Chapter 57

Dean walked right past Sam’s receptionist and into his office. Chuck already sat in front of Sam’s desk, waving his arms around as he retold the story of how he’d gotten lost at Disneyland for the hundredth time. Dean patted him on the shoulder as he slumped into a chair and took off his sunglasses.

            “Nice of you to join us,” Sam said with a tense smile.

            Dean smiled back. “I have a boyfriend on house arrest. You’re lucky I’m here at all.”

            Sam shook his head and looked down at the folder on his desk. Dean leaned forward to catch the cover before Sam flipped it and recognized it as the original folder about his fake relationship with Cas. He raised an eyebrow, first at Sam and then glanced towards Chuck, who simply shrugged.

            When the silence stretched past what was comfortable, Dean said, “Are we gonna talk about what happened or not?”

            “Dean did the right thing,” Chuck said. “Sure, it’s not what we would have come up with in the long run, but in one night, he’s become a household name again. It took him a couple of hours to do what we were going to spend a week on. Isn’t that a good thing?”

            Sam sighed.

            “I know we’re changing tactics and it’s confusing,” Chuck continued, “but Dean made a move and for once in his life, he made a good one. Are we really going to waste his time berating him for it?”

            Sam looked up at them. Dean couldn’t help but smile – he didn’t really remember the last time Chuck had praised his behaviour instead of scolding him for it. Maybe it had been the AMAs two years before, when he’d sprayed Taylor Swift with a bottle of champagne and then promptly offered her his jacket to cover the see-through spots of her white dress. The memory only made his smile broaden.

            “This isn’t about that,” Sam said. He leaned back in his chair and pursed his lips for a moment, thinking. “Dean... you’ve never needed help looking bad to the press. It’s a talent, of sorts. And I wouldn’t even suggest that we stage moments or rein you in if this was any other situation. Even with your contract just renewed, if they want this, you know what to do. You know where the line is. And if you stick behind it, we don’t have a problem.”

            Dean furrowed his brow. “Are you saying ecstasy is over the line now?”

            “I’m not.”

            He continued to stare at him. “Then I don’t get it.”

            “You’re not the only person your behaviour effects.” Sam leveled his gaze and Dean couldn’t quite read his expression. He seemed like he wanted to laugh but maybe also sigh or give him a hug. Sometimes Sam had too many emotions to count, too many thoughts at odds with each other for Dean to figure them out without a diagram. “You getting high and being a nuisance at a club is exactly the kind of shit you should be pulling to sell this album. But it’s not the kind of thing Cas should be doing to sell his movie.”

            “I’m a big name; Cas is a big name.” Dean shrugged. “What’s the problem?”

            “Cas has a reputation as trustworthy. A good guy. A father and a husband.” The look in Sam’s eyes got significantly sadder before he seemed to collect himself and sat up a little straighter. “We had to significantly reduce your liability for people to even believe he’d fall for you. And now, we need to raise your profile and reinvigorate your reputation without ruining his.”

            Dean shifted his jaw and glanced over at Chuck, who seemed to have lost all interest in the conversation. Dean sat up a little straighter and looked his brother in the eye. “So what exactly are you saying? That I can’t sell my album because he has to sell his movie?”

            “You can sell an album without him. He can’t sell this movie without you.”

            Dean scoffed. “In case you haven’t noticed, the vast majority of the world is way more interested in him right now than they are in me. Even those stupid Twitter videos mostly concern him. So I’m not all that worried about his popularity.”

            As Sam looked at him, staring him down, trying to read him like a damn book, Dean stomped down on the guilt rising up in him. He was allowed to be angry. He had every right to want his publicist to look out for him before he looked out for someone else. And it didn’t matter that the other person was Cas, that Dean wanted to look out for Cas too. Dean was in the right. Cas had all the popularity he needed, with or without him.

            “We need this relationship to last until the movie premiere.”

            “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

            “After the premiere, you can go your separate ways, issue a joint statement about the split, and—”

            “Us breaking up is no longer your decision.” Dean felt the words hit the room like an anvil in a Road Runner cartoon. Sam looked at Chuck who had put down his phone to look at Dean. Dean swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, but that’s the truth. You want to play with my image? That’s fine. You want to protect Cas? Go for it. But we’re a unit now, whether you fucking like it or not. So don’t hedge your bets on me playing nice until the movie premiere so we can break up like mature adults and then give me five months to fuck up my life again. That isn’t gonna work.”

            The room went quiet and Dean slumped back into his chair. He watched his brother for a moment – Sam bit his bottom lip and looked back at the folder in front of him. On his side, Chuck drummed his fingers against the arm of the chair and looked down at his feet. Dean scanned the room, searching for the source of the ticking, before landing on the antique clock behind Sam’s desk. Next to it sat a family photo Dean couldn’t remember taking – he was only three or four in it and Sam was a baby, still safely wrapped in their mother’s arms.

            Dean felt a pang for all the things they had lost – their mother, the soft way toddler him looked at his younger brother, and their dad’s clear-eyed happiness. As the silence stretched, Dean felt the urge to break it crest like a wave in his chest.

             “I’m not losing anything else.” He met Sam’s eyes as he looked up. “I’m not losing Cas and I’m not losing my damn career because of him. It is your job, both of you, to handle this kind of shit. So come up with a plan that doesn’t involve me cutting off my own balls or calmly breaking up with the man I love, and I’ll listen to it.”

            He didn’t move after that. He felt like maybe he should, like maybe they both expected him to storm out, but he stayed still. After a beat of silence, Sam said, “Okay,” and started to think out loud like he used to when they were kids. Dean chimed in when he knew what his brother was talking about and soon Chuck joined the conversation as well.

            As the minutes turned into hours, they hammered out a plan to keep the world turning the way it was supposed to. It more or less boiled down to a separation between church and state – Dean was welcome to do all the stupid shit his heart desired as long as he kept Cas out of it. Sam drew a very clear line in the sand – this is what the label will accept, this is what they won’t. Amongst the three of them, they came up with several loose ideas for ways that Dean could entice the press and reinstate himself as a walking scandal.

            He left Sam’s office feeling better than he had going in. The ideas swirled in his mind as he tried to decide what to do first, what felt right. Sam had told him to wait a week or so – the buzz from the ecstasy videos was still at its height and, with the right team behind it, he could shift the conversation off Cas and onto Dean. It would take less than twelve hours.

            Dean pressed through the crowd of paparazzi on his lawn. Instead of keeping his head down, like he was used to, he smiled into the camera flashes and laughed at reporters’ shouted questions “Are you willing to admit you have a problem?” “Does Cas support your habit?” “Can we expect the return of the real Dean Winchester?” He turned at the door to blow them all a kiss, flip the bird, and then locked himself safely inside the house.

            He saw Cas pacing behind the couch, phone to his ear, so he said nothing as he shrugged out of his jacket. He tossed his keys onto the table and Cas looked up with a small smile. “Hmm? No, nothing. Dean just got home,” Cas said.

            Dean smiled at the simple word – _home_ – and realized just how much of the place was Cas’ now. The coffee table was littered with scripts. They had cinnamon bun coffee creamer in the fridge. They’d bought new sheets a few weeks ago in a pattern Dean never would have chosen but quite liked once Cas talked him into it. And, above all else, the place smelled like Cas. The bathroom smelled like his strawberry shampoo and the bedroom like his sweat. The living room smelled like that stupid vanilla candle Dean was sure he’d told him not to burn anymore but he liked that too. He liked every silent reminder that Cas lived with him.

            He headed for the kitchen but stopped when Cas called him back. He turned to see him offering his phone. “What?” Dean said.

            “Jack wants to talk to you.”

            “Why?”

            Cas shrugged and wiggled the phone.

            Dean took it. He hesitated just a moment – just long enough for Cas to give him an odd look – and then said, “Hey, Jack. What’s up, buddy?”

            Jack immediately launched into a story about some kid in his class making a homophobic comment about Dean’s music and how Jack had stepped in to defend him. He spoke in excited loops, rewinding every sentence or so to add in details he’d missed, and then jumping ahead without recapping what happened in between. Dean tried to keep his chuckles to himself, going so far to cover his mouth with his hand as he listened. He leaned against the doorway as Jack spoke, offering comments only when Jack paused for breath.

            “What else?” Jack hummed. “Wait! Let me get Claire. I know she wanted to talk to you.”

            “Okay,” Dean said, smiling.

            Cas smiled back at him. Dean had barely realized that Cas had stood there the whole time, just watching him on the phone. Dean felt his heart swell.

            “He’s getting Claire,” he said.

            “Tell her she’s still grounded.”

            Dean almost questioned that, but then Claire was on the line.

            “Dean, please, you have to tell my dad that mom’s being unreasonable and it’s totally uncalled for to keep me cooped up in the house for a month! A whole month, can you believe that?”

            Dean laughed. “I can’t imagine what power you think I have over your punishments.”

            “You got dad high,” Claire said. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re a miracle worker.”

            “You’re still grounded.”

            Cas mouthed _thank you_ with a wide smile.

            “You don’t even know what I did!”

            “Don’t have to.” Dean knew he was hitting the wrong tone, that he sounded way too cheerful to be telling a teenager they were still punished. He tried to swallow his smile but it wouldn’t quite go away. “You want to talk to your dad?”

            She sighed. “Fine.”

            Dean handed the phone back, his fingers brushing against Cas’. He swallowed down his swelling heart and watched as Cas moved back across the living room to slump down onto the couch. Dean went into the kitchen to grab a snack, then walked back in and sat down beside him. Cas put down the phone and turned it to speakerphone, sighing to himself as Claire’s voice flooded into the room.

            Dean did his best not to laugh as Claire recited the exact reasons she had snuck out of her house, into a college party, and gotten drunk off her ass on a school night like she was some sort of mid-century adventurer and not a rebellious teenager. When Cas reiterated that her grounding stood, Claire said, “You took drugs and you’re not grounded!”

            “Oh, trust me, I am,” Cas said.

            Claire hung up with a groan and Dean pressed his smiling face into Cas’ shoulder. As Cas sighed, he also laughed a little. His hand came down in Dean’s hair, stroking the hairs on the back of his neck. He turned to kiss him and Dean let the kiss linger long past the point of comfort, just a soft touch of their lips that stretched through minutes.

            “I love your kids,” Dean whispered.

            “Me too.”


	58. Chapter 58

Cas remembered the last time Sam had met him backstage before an interview. It had been two weeks after the cheating scandal had broken. Kelly had left him and he’d been slated for his first public appearance since their split. Back then, Sam’s main advice had been, “don’t cry, keep it simple, I’m here for you.” Now, Sam listed off talking points like he was about to enter a Presidential debate and not _Kelly & Ryan_.

            Cas did his best to memorize all the information being thrown at him. Most of it had been in the email Sam had sent last night – the questions he’d be asked, the fact that this was the first official interview following the movie trailer’s release, and the defence he had to use for his actions and Dean’s. He stared up at Sam now, nodding along to his whispered instructions as a PA checked his mic and rolled lint off his blue suit.

            “You’re still the face of this movie, all right?” Sam grabbed onto his shoulders. “And you need to own that now more than ever. If they trip you up, if they ask something you’re not expecting, turn the conversation back to the movie. The movie is king.”

            “I’ve done this before, Sam.”

            Sam frowned and Cas looked away, not willing to see the worry written all over his face. As his hands dropped, he said, “I just want to make sure you’re ready for this.”

            “This isn’t even the worst thing I’ve ever done.” Cas forced a smile and stepped into the waiting spot that the PA gestured to. He wiped his sweaty palms against his suit jacket and fiddled with the open collar of his white shirt.

            Sam had done a masterful job turning the ecstasy scandal onto Dean and shielding Cas from the worst of the backlash. He’d had to formally apologize to both studios he was currently under contract with, get photographed working for a charity he didn’t even know the name of, and keep out of Dean’s current antics, but from what he could tell, the strategy had worked. He was Castiel Novak, trustworthy actor, again and not Castiel Novak, Dean Winchester’s wild boyfriend.

            On his cue, he walked out onstage, waving and smiling at the crowd. He shook Ryan’s hand when he reached him and hugged Kelly before taking a seat on the white swivel stool. They had to wait a long moment before the cheering went down and Cas did his best to stifle a yawn. The sun had barely risen outside and Cas had no idea how they got all these people in such a cheerful mood – free coffee? He wished he’d had more than one cup.

            “Castiel, it is so great to have you with us this morning,” Kelly said.

            “It’s great to be here, Kelly.”

            “As I’m sure most of our viewers know, but I’ll tell them in case they don’t, the official trailer for your newest film, _Dreaded Darkness_ , premiered last night. And, I must say, it looks horrifying.” She laughed and Cas caught the cue only a moment too late. “Can you tell us more about what’s happening in the film?”

            Cas felt a wave of relief wash over him as she started with the questions the studio had approved and provided him with answers for. Not even Sam’s constant monologue of _danger danger_ could trip Cas up as he said, “The movie follows a middle-aged couple, Michael and Gabe, who purchase their first house together. It’s kind of a fixer-upper and there have been rumours around town that it’s haunted. My character, Michael, doesn’t believe in ghosts but pretty soon he’s plagued by nightmares and impulses that bring out the worst parts of himself and he decides that the only way he’ll get through it is if he tries to find the source of these problems, so he looks into the legends of the town and the haunting to find out what exactly is going on in his new home.”

            “So it’s kind of Shining-esque, isn’t it? Your character is similar to Jack Torrance.”

            “In a way, yes. There’s certainly that sense of a man who’s normal on the outside but perhaps dangerous underneath getting driven mad by the things that inhabit the place where he’s living. However, I would say the main difference between Jack and Michael is that while Jack accepts the ghosts and their stories, Michael does his best to push them out. As much as he does want to hurt Gabe, he’s aware that it’s something he would never have done if these ghosts weren’t messing with him.”

            “And Gabe is played by Balthazar Remington, is that correct?”

            Cas nodded.

            “What was it like to play opposite to him?”

            He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the implication underneath the question. Sam had told him to pivot back to the movie, always, and this question didn’t even directly take him off course. So he answered diplomatically, “Balthazar is a great actor. He knows what he’s doing on set and really takes control of a room. I’m glad I got the chance to work with him in this film. I think our chemistry really adds to the feel of the movie.”

            “By that I assume you mean your hatred of each other adds to the characters’ hatred of each other?”

            Cas laughed nervously. “Oh, no. No. Balthazar and I have had our differences, certainly, but they didn’t affect the movie.”

            “Didn’t he sleep with your wife?” Ryan said.

            Cas bit his bottom lip and then let it slip out into a pleasant smile. “That’s all in the past now. We did a lot of great work on this film and I think that when you look at the movie as a whole, we really shine as actors and we play off of each other well. It’s so rare on set that you get to work with someone who really inspires your best work and I think Balthazar did that for me here.”

            There was a momentary pause before Kelly moved on to other approved questions and Cas fell easily back into rhythm with her. He felt a bit like he had in his first interviews with his ex-wife – grounded, diplomatic, able to hold his tongue when it was necessary. As they neared the end of the interview, she said, “And your better half, Dean Winchester, also has a small role in this movie, is that correct?”

            Cas exhaled his laugh. “Yes, he plays a man my character hooks up with in a flashback scene.”

            “Sounds steamy.”

            “It... is.” He tried to stop the heat rising to his cheeks, then gave up and just hoped his blush wasn’t visible on camera. He let out a nervous laugh.

            “Speaking of Dean, he’s been getting in some trouble with the tabloids lately. Drugs, alcohol, parties... the kind of thing that we all thought he’d abandoned when he shacked up with you.”

            Cas nodded. He searched his mind for a way to turn that back on the movie before Sam’s other words thunked back into his mind. He had to address the scandal. He had to give them something. “Yes, well... I don’t think I ever really changed Dean. I didn’t want to. Part of what I love about him is that he’s my opposite in every way. I think that’s part of what makes us work. It focuses him on his work and it allows me to loosen up a little.”

            “Is that why you ended up in the press for drug use?”

            “Yes.” Cas shrugged. “I’m aware it was irresponsible and stupid, even. Having had the experience, I’m even more adamant that people should avoid it. It wasn’t fun. I don’t remember most of it. And afterwards it was... terrible. I know I’m in no position now to tell people not to do drugs but I guess, if you make that choice, make sure you’re safe. I was with Dean. I trust him with my life. And I knew I was safe the whole time.”

            Kelly nodded. “That’s a great view, thank you for that. And now, let’s see that trailer of yours! Here’s your first look at _Dreaded Darkness_ , coming to a theatre near you on May 11th.”

            Cas turned on his seat to watch the screen with Kelly and Ryan. He tried to calm his hammering heart. They cut to commercial after the trailer; he shook both their hands again and then stepped offstage. Sam met him in the wings and handed back his phone.

            “Don’t freak out,” Sam said. “He’s okay.”

            Cas looked down at the flooded notifications screen and his eyes glanced over headline after headline, barely absorbing what any of them said. He looked up at Sam with a blank expression and Sam pushed him towards the doors. “Car’s already coming.”

 

“I’m fine,” Dean said the moment Cas stepped into his hospital room.

            Cas paused in the doorway, felt Sam screech to a stop behind him. Dean winced as he swung his legs off the bed but, truth or not, he looked better than Cas had expected, especially given the videos. There were so many videos of Dean wiping out on his motorcycle, the bike tumbling over itself as Dean skidded across the pavement.

            He had a gash across his cheek and countless scrapes down his arms. An ugly bruise had already formed against his collarbone and a few more were making their way to the surface of his skin. His ankle was bound in a tensor bandage but not a cast. And despite the winces, the sore muscles that he projected with every shift, he managed a smile.

            Cas broke through the doorway like a barrier had suddenly gone down. He wrapped his arms around Dean, who groaned and winced, but Cas only held him closer, careful not to squeeze too tight. “That was so fucking dangerous,” he whispered.

            “I’m fine.” Dean gently pushed him off and spread his arms to the side. He winced and dropped one arm before reaching to rub his shoulder. “Doctor says the scrapes and bruises will heal up fine, the rest is just sore muscles, and—”

            “You have a concussion.” Sam had walked to the end of the bed and flipped through the chart. He looked up from it with a wary expression.

            “Mild concussion. Just can’t sleep tonight, rest the rest of the week, and I’m as good as fucking new.”

            “It’s your third concussion.”

            Dean bit the inside of his cheek. Cas resisted the urge to touch him again, to run his fingers through his hair as if that would soothe the swelling in his brain. He felt so useless in the cold hospital room, like he was just taking up space or invading a private conversation. But, as Sam left the room to talk to the doctor, Dean pulled on Cas’ pant leg and Cas sat down beside him.

            “I’m sorry,” Dean said.

            Cas looked over at him and sighed. He had a thousand things he wanted to say and a thousand things he couldn’t. Instead of forcing his mouth to work, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it to Dean. “Call the kids,” he said, his voice wavering. “They keep texting and asking...”

            “Yeah.” Dean swallowed hard and hit the number to call Claire. Even as he pressed the phone to his ear, Cas could hear Claire and Jack both vying to be heard. Dean laughed, then calmed them down slowly, reassuring them that it was all superficial. After just a minute, he said goodbye and hung up, handing the phone back to Cas.

            “Thanks.”

            Dean licked his lips. “You’ve got nothing else to say?”

            “I don’t know what you want me to say.” Cas thought of everything he could say. That he felt empty sitting there, like he’d already lost Dean. That he thought he had when he’d first seen the video. He wanted to yell at him for riding that stupid motorcycle down a practically vertical hill. He wanted to make sure Dean knew exactly how lucky he was to have not broken a bone or busted his spleen or died. But more than anything, he just wanted Dean to know all of those things without Cas having to open his mouth.

            Dean tapped his good foot against Cas’ and Cas looked down at the half a foot of space between them. Had that been for Sam’s sake or his own? Slowly, Cas made himself take in every injury on Dean’s skin, every scrape and bruise. “At least your jacket got the worst of it.” He touched his fingers to Dean’s unscarred arm.

            “It’s practically shredded.”

            “Dean, we...” Cas felt like he might vomit. The white walls and fluorescent lights made him feel disoriented, like he was sitting inside his own head and not on a hospital bed.

            Dean laced his fingers through Cas’ and squeezed.

            For a long time, they sat together in silence. The doctor came in again and tested Dean’s reflexes, went over his scans with both of them, and then handed over the release paperwork. Cas asked him to repeat the procedure for caring for someone with a concussion twice and wrote notes down in his phone just in case. He also asked for the doctor’s number so he could call him if anything got worse.

            Dean argued with the orderly over leaving in a wheelchair. Cas did his best to stay out of it, knowing hospital policy would win out over a disgruntled rock star, especially since Sam was on the side of the hospital. Together with Sam, Cas wheeled Dean out of the hospital doors and into the waiting press. He shielded his eyes from the flash of the cameras as Dean laughed at shouted questions, insisted he was fine, and asked if he looked cool while wiping out.

            Cas didn’t cry until the car’s doors were safely shut. His whole body shook as Dean launched into conversation with Sam about how cool the stunt was, how it was probably better he’d wiped out than if he’d made it. Sam laughed. Cas had no idea how either of them could laugh after something like that.

            His breath hitched and he had to sniffle and suddenly he had both their attention. He wished he didn’t. Dean grabbed his hand again as Sam tried to hand him tissues and Cas did his best to wave them both off. He’d gotten through the worst of it by the time they arrived back at the house.

            Sam stepped out of the car first to ask the photographers and reporters to keep their distance from Dean, since he was still pretty banged up. Cas passed through their line without a word and headed inside. Dean stayed out with Sam to make a statement or a joke or do something else stupid. Cas collapsed into the armchair and turned on the TV. An afternoon talk show was on and the starting story was Dean’s motorcycle accident. Cas turned the TV off.

            Dean came in a few minutes later with Sam. Sam spent twenty minutes making sure they were okay, that Cas knew what he had to do, and then left when another client called. After the door closed behind him, Cas closed his eyes to the silence of the room and let his face fall into his hands.

            “I know you’re angry—”

            “I’m not angry.” Cas sighed. He looked up to see Dean perched on the edge of the couch, eyes worried. “I should be. I should be so fucking pissed at you, Dean. Clubbing and getting drunk and throwing private parties is one thing. But this? You could have died.”  

            “But I didn’t.”

            “And what were the odds of that? How fucking lucky are you?”

            Dean swallowed hard and looked down at his feet. “I thought you said you weren’t mad.”

            “I’m terrified. You’re sitting right there and I can’t touch you because you’re so hurt and I feel like you’re gone. I feel like I’m imagining this and you died in that hospital bed and you’re not really there. You’re not really looking back at me. You’re not really talking to me. I feel like I’m hallucinating you.”

            A tear rolled down Dean’s cheek and Cas realized he, too, was crying. He wiped at his cheeks as Dean’s knee knocked against his. Then, he reached out his hand and Cas took it.

            “Is that real enough for you?”

            Cas shook his head.

            “I’m here. I’m alive. I’m a little banged up, sure, but it’s nothing I won’t pull through.”

            “How are you so calm?”

            “I’ve had worse brushes with death.”

            Cas remembered them. He remembered the headlines Charlie had shown him, the articles he’d read about Dean’s overdoses or collapses on stage. He still didn’t know how many of them were real and how many were tabloid fodder. He couldn’t tell what had happened and what was an excuse made when Dean missed a concert. The last thing he wanted to do was go through them with a fine-toothed comb and figure out exactly how many times Dean had almost died.

            “What were you going to say back in the hospital?”

            Cas looked up.

            “You started to say something and stopped and then you didn’t really speak again. Was it important?”

            He shifted his jaw and swallowed. Speaking of the last thing he wanted to do. But his hand shook even now in Dean’s grip. And even if it wasn’t fair to ask someone with a concussion to think too hard, Cas needed to.

            “You scared my kids,” Cas said, the words catching in his throat, “and I know we agreed that this is real but I guess my question is... how real?”

            Dean stared at him blankly.

            Cas shifted forward in the chair, his knee pressing harder into Dean’s as he leaned towards him. “My kids love you and I’m glad they do, but I can’t let them get invested in something that’s not... going somewhere.”

            Dean’s hand slipped from his. “What are you asking?”

            “I...” He hesitated and then forced himself to meet Dean’s eyes. “I’m asking how invested you are in our relationship. I’m not asking you to marry me or make some big commitment or anything, not right now, but... I can go through this. I can handle you almost dying. But I can’t put my kids through the worry if... if there’s a chance, a good chance, that one day you won’t be willing to convince them you’re okay.”

            “I’ll always be here for your kids.”

            “Can you promise that?”

            Dean licked his lips and, when he looked away, Cas felt his heart crack right at the edge, splintering inwards. Dean shifted his knee away. “I don’t get what the big deal is, Cas. I’m here. I’m with you. I’m here for them. What more do you want from me?”

            “I want to know where this is going.”

            “This conversation is a bad idea,” Dean snapped. “When has this conversation ever gone the way you wanted it to? It puts too much pressure on things, forces everything out into the open—”

            “It should be out in the open!” Cas pulled back as soon as he realized he’d raised his voice. He looked down at his feet.

            Dean stayed quiet for several seconds and Cas focused on the sound of his breathing. The house settled around them. The wandering part of Cas’ brain made a note to turn the heat up, as the days had yet to turn warm.

            “What’s wrong with just seeing how things go?” Dean said finally. “No pressure, no promises. We just keep doing this thing and see how it all shakes out.”

            Cas nodded without looking up at him. He gripped the armrest to stop his hands from shaking. Every inch of him wanted to stand up, to walk away, to take a second to cry his eyes out in the bathroom. Instead, he unlocked his phone and reread the instructions on how to take care of concussions. “Do you want to play cards?”


	59. Chapter 59

Dean picked at the scab on his palm as the producer and Chuck finished up an argument about how to make the last song on the album clean. Dean had gotten waved out of the conversation the minute he had asked if they even needed a clean version. Now, Chuck grabbed his elbow without even looking at him to stop him from picking at the scab. Dean shook him off and tapped his fingers against his thigh.

            “Are we done here?” he asked.

            Chuck looked back at him, mouth half-open.

            “You want to pick the singles?” the producer asked.

            With a sigh, Dean leaned forward and grabbed a pen off the table. He circled three songs on the track list. “Don’t care about the order, don’t care when they premiere.” He glanced back at Chuck. “Are we done here?”

            “Mr. Roman wants to see you when the album’s finished.”

            “Of course he does.” Dean turned towards the exit and started to pick at the scab again. The worst of the bruises had started to yellow and fade now. Almost all the scabs had turned to scars except for the ones Dean picked at when bored, or in between guitar strums, or late at night when he couldn’t sleep. Part of him was still terrified to fall asleep, even though the doctor had given him the all-clear weeks ago.

            Chuck patted him on the shoulder as they approached the elevator. They headed up to Mr. Roman’s private office once again and a different secretary greeted them. Dean waved off her insistence that they have something to drink with a, “I don’t plan to be here that long.”

            “Well, he’s in another meeting right now so—”

            “An important one?”

            The woman opened her mouth to reply but no words came out. Dean almost felt bad for being a diva. Clearly, she’d either just gotten the job or won it without the references. He should go easy on her. But he wouldn’t.

            Instead, he brushed past her and walked through the solid oak doors that Mr. Roman hid behind. Voices clattered to a stop as he entered, Chuck at his heels. Mr. Roman looked up at him with a serene smile and Dean did his best to return it without the least bit of sarcasm.

            “Album’s done,” he said. “You need anything else from me?”

            Mr. Roman glanced from him to the three people sitting in front of his desk. Dean paid them no mind – out of the corner of his eye, he could see that they were all dressed in grey – accountants, maybe, or other personnel from finance. “We were going to discuss your behaviour,” Mr. Roman said in the same slow, calm way a kindergarten teacher might scold a student. “I hardly think you would want to do that in front of these nice people.”

            Dean shrugged. “I was told you wanted me back at full swing. You’ve got it.”

            “Just be more careful,” Mr. Roman said. “I don’t want to release your album posthumously.”

             Dean spread his arms out to his sides and bit down on his tongue when his left shoulder twinged. He forced a smile. “Do I look dead to you?” Then he turned on his heel and headed out. When he passed the still-frozen secretary, he said, “Thanks, sweetheart,” and stepped into the waiting elevator.

            Chuck waited until the doors closed before he said, “That was a bad idea.”

            “Why?”

            Chuck’s silence answered that question easily. The contracts were signed, the album was finished. Whether Mr. Roman hated Dean or not, he had to release the music on the agreed upon date. The inevitable waiting period between the finished product and the album drop already itched under Dean’s skin. He’d never really understood it, as many times as it’d been explained to him. The label had to buy shelf space. The marketing team needed time to get the word out privately before it went public. The masters were rarely the finished product. Dean thought it was all bullshit.

            In the lobby, Chuck said, “The press from the accident is starting to die down. You have anything else planned?”

            “I have a few ideas.”

            “Anything you want to run past me? Or Sam?”

            Dean said nothing as he pushed through the revolving glass doors. He went straight for the car and winced when Chuck grabbed his bad shoulder. Dean shook him off as he turned back. “What?”

            “Sam will kill both of us if you get hurt again,” Chuck said. “We’ve agreed that you know how to handle your reputation. You know the kind of stupid shit that you’re supposed to pull. All we ask is that you give us a heads up if there’s a likelihood we’ll have to call an ambulance.”

            Dean started to pull away.

            Chuck tugged him back. “That includes the coke.”

            “I’m not doing that anymore.” He broke free of Chuck’s grasp and slammed the car door behind him, feeling his heart rate speed up. As the car rumbled forward, he closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe. He felt shaky, sick, and like sitting still would mean the end of the world.

            He reached for his phone, suddenly wanting to hear Cas’ voice telling him everything would be all right, but he stopped himself. He stared at the blank screen. Bad idea or not, he did his best work when he felt like he was about to explode out of his skin. And Cas would only help him stay intact, keep him all in one piece. As much as he wanted that, as much as he craved the stability and Cas’ touch and the warmth of their home, it wasn’t what the public wanted.

            He tapped on the car’s divider and it went down an inch. “Change of plans,” he said. “Can you take me to the Walk of Fame?”

            The driver nodded and took the next left turn. Dean settled back into his seat and allowed himself one small concession to the life he wanted versus the life he had. He opened up his conversation with Cas and texted, _might be a little late tonight._ He turned off his phone before Cas’ reply could chime in, before Cas begged him to come home, before even Cas’ simple _okay_ made Dean turn the car around again.

            He got out in the middle of the walk.  For a few moments, no one paid him any mind. Then tourists flocked to him without so much as a scream of his name. His mere presence seemed to draw them in. He signed autographs until his hand cramped, shook hands until his shoulder throbbed, and then waved them all away with thin apologies.

            He walked up the row of stars, glancing over the names as he went. Even as the late winter chill gave way to early spring warmth, Dean shivered in his jacket. He paused when he read Balthazar’s name. His fingers itched into a fist – how he wished he could punch the guy again – and suddenly the idea hit him, like a bolt of inspiration from on high.

            Dean’s logical brain said it was stupid. His press brain said it was suicide. The part of him that had internalized Sam’s voice said he’d get arrested for it. Chuck’s voice sighed, echoing through his skull.

            Dean stepped in front of the star and started to unzip his pants. Luckily, he had to pee and it didn’t take long before the stream of urine hit Balthazar’s star and splattered outwards. A few unlucky onlookers screamed and jumped away. In the back of his mind, Dean was aware the cameras had come out and, soon, the police sirens sounded.

            One point to Sam’s omnipresent voice.

            Dean zipped back up and held his hands up in surrender as he turned towards the cops, a wide grin on his face. He knew the pictures would look good – him smiling as a cop put him in handcuffs, the laughter written across his features. But his heart felt hollow, like the role had gotten old when he’d stopped looking.

            Three hours later, Chuck posted his bail and a junior officer struggled to unlock his handcuffs. Dean sighed and wiggled his wrists a bit. With a jolt, he pulled out of them and handed them back to the shocked officer.

            “How mad is Cas?” Dean said as he rubbed his wrists.

            Chuck handed him back his stuff in a plastic bag. “He wanted to leave you in there.”

            Dean gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Maybe I deserved it.”

            “You were defending his honour. I only wish I could have gotten him to bail you out himself.”

            Dean made a non-committal sound as he scrolled through the notifications on his phone. Sam had both given him a professional opinion on the matter and texted _I’m surprised they let you out with your priors_. Dean texted him back the middle finger emoji. But in the midst of all of that, Cas hadn’t sent a thing.

            In the back of Chuck’s car, Dean scrolled through the pictures on his phone, trying to remember what it felt like to be so deliriously happy with Cas. Twitter notifications flooded in as fans complained about not being there to see his dick. Dean ignored them like he’d ignored the paparazzi outside the jail, like he’d have to ignore the photographers on his front lawn. “How’s that restraining order going?”

            “Not great,” Chuck said. “You have to actually name people in a TRO. And getting the names of tabloid sources is surprisingly difficult.”

            “You’re not trying to hack the CIA, just bribe them.”

            Dean flicked over to a picture of him and Cas in bed. He remembered discussing this one with Cas too – the sheets covering them, the clear outline of his dick, how Chuck would kill him if he posted it. He glanced over at Chuck now, absorbed in his phone like always. He opened the Instagram app and captioned the picture _for anyone who missed the show ;)_

He shoved his phone back into his pocket. As he rested his head back, eyes closed, he heard Chuck laugh. Death was not in the cards today, then.

            At least not death by Chuck.

            Dean pushed through the photographers on his front lawn, shielded his eyes from the flashes. When he got into the house, he felt just as sore as he had hours after crashing his motorcycle. Every muscle burned from being grabbed and poked at. His head throbbed from the shouts and the door jostled behind him as reporters banged at it. Dean stepped away and into the kitchen.

            He had planned on avoiding Cas. But Cas stood in the middle of the kitchen, his phone nestled in the palm of his hand, not even blinking. Dean gave him a cursory glance and went for the fridge instead. He took a gulp of orange juice right from the carton before turning back to Cas, who had finally looked up with a blank expression.

            “My kids will see this,” he said.

            Dean leaned forward to look at the Instagram post. “It’s your thigh.” He met Cas’ eyes with as much impassiveness as he could muster.

            Given how Cas suddenly pulled back from him, his expression jumping from worried to offended, Dean had done a pretty good job of faking indifference. “It’s not about that,” Cas said.

            “You’re the one who wanted to post that photo in the first place.”

            “Before I knew it had your dick in it.”

            “No one even cares that you’re in it.”

            Cas blinked and every emotion wiped out of his face. Dean felt the room drop two degrees, like the sun had been blotted out. He struggled to keep his own neutral face intact, to fake the level of devil-may-care attitude that had got him in this position in the first place. But it was hard to play the part when he knew Cas didn’t have to act at all to go so still, to be filled with so much anger and disappointment.

            “I’m worried about you,” Cas said, his voice terrifyingly steady. “You’re not the person I know.”

            Dean licked his lips and shrugged. “This is who I have to be to sell albums.”

            “But it’s not who you _are_.” Cas stepped forward and reached for his jacket. Dean stepped just out of reach. “I feel like I’m living with the persona I saw in the tabloids, with the guy I hated the moment Sam told me about him. I feel like all that time you spent convincing me that you’re not that person, that you’re not a mess, was a lie. And if it wasn’t, if it’s the truth, then why are you doing this?”

            “I have to. I have to sell albums.”

            “You’re going to wind up dead or in jail,” Cas snapped. Anger flashed through his blue eyes. “You’ll overdose or crash your car or get arrested for something more serious than public urination and it won’t fucking matter that this is all an act. No judge or jury is gonna give a shit that you had an album to sell. Do you understand that, Dean? Do you understand that this behaviour could ruin you?”

            Dean felt the damn break and, even as he scrambled to stop it, he couldn’t patch the hole in time. Tears sputtered out of him as the sobs racked his chest. He reached to wipe the tears away from his face, to try and pretend it wasn’t happening, that his whole body wasn’t shaking, that his world wasn’t crumbling, but he heard Cas’ soft, “oh, shit,” and then felt hands reaching for him.

            He batted Cas away. “Don’t touch me.” He turned around and grabbed onto the doorframe. “Fuck. Fuck.”

            He scrunched up his face, trying to stop the flow of tears as he leaned his forehead against the wall. He hated the sounds making their way out of his throat, hated how with every heavy breath he could feel the bruises on his ribs. With as much control as he could muster, he forced himself to breathe slowly, calmly. He sank to the floor and rested against the side of the fridge.

            Cas slide a tissue box across the floor with his foot. Dean grabbed one, then three, and wiped the worst of the mess off his face. As fast as it had begun, it had stopped. He felt the hollow in his chest, the emptiness in his heart, and the hole where the smart part of his brain was supposed to be.

            Staring at the crumpled tissues in his hands, he whispered, “I don’t want to be this guy anymore.”

            Cas settled onto the floor across from him. Dean could just see his knee, the denim rubbed white on his jeans. Cas tapped his fingers against the tile floor and, somehow, the sound was comforting instead of annoying. It was almost the tune of a lullaby. “Then why do it?”

            “If I can’t sell this album, then I’m done.” Dean swallowed hard. “I know we did this to give your career a boost but... labels give second chances even less often than movie studios do. I’ve been told my whole life what’ll happen if I flop, if my album doesn’t go silver, let alone gold or platinum. And I’m fucking terrified of what will happen, of what I’ll be, if I can’t generate the buzz to get this album off the ground.”

            “You’ll be you.” Cas let out a heavy exhale. “You’ll be talented and passionate, loving and generous. You’ll still be the person who gives his whole heart to everything he does and makes everyone around him laugh with a single word. You’ll still be difficult and ridiculous, anxious and sadder than you should be.”

            Dean looked up to see Cas swallow hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

            Cas caught his eyes. “I hope you’ll still be mine.”

            Dean started to cry again but this time he did nothing to stop it. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Cas, holding him tighter than he had in a long time. “Don’t leave me,” he whispered. “No matter what I do, no matter what I have to do... this is real. This me is real.”

            “I know.” Cas kissed the side of his face. “I know.”


	60. Chapter 60

“How many times do we have to have this conversation?” Cas turned away from the windows of Sam’s office to look over at Charlie, sitting beside him, and then back at Sam, who stood beside his desk. “I get it. I do. Dean’s press and mine are at odds with each other.”

            “It’s not just that,” Sam said.

            “This isn’t working anymore,” Charlie cut in. She shot her glare Cas’ way. “And as your agent, I have to protect you from this stupid stunt.”

            “I don’t want your protection.”

            Charlie sighed heavily and turned her focus to Sam instead. “The goal of this little stunt was clear. Dean’s reputation gets better, he signs with his label again, and his career’s back on track. Cas gets back in the public eye, he gets a few projects going, and his career’s back on track. As far as I see it, both those goals have been achieved. I want to pull the plug.”

            Sam looked from her to Cas. Cas held his gaze for a moment too long, unsure what kind of signal he was looking for, what he wanted other than the open defiance Cas had maintained for the last twenty minutes. Sighing, Sam said, “It’s not that simple. In order to say the plan has been a success, _Dreaded Darkness_ has to do well in the box office.”

            “The Mason Haverford announcement will clinch that,” she said.

            “I don’t think it will. I think Dean needs to be in the picture for the movie premiere.”

            “In the picture drunk? Or high? Or maybe in a full body cast?”

            Sam’s jaw shifted and he looked back at Cas. “Dean has made it very clear to me that this arrangement ends when he wants it to, not when I do. Would it be fair to assume you feel the same way?”

            Cas nodded.

            “We can’t force them to do anything they don’t want to.”

            Charlie sat up straighter in her chair. “You’re his _publicist_. You’re supposed to do what’s best for his image. Look at the tabloids right now. Look at what his boyfriend is doing and tell me that’s good for image. Tell me he wouldn’t do better going into the press tour with a break-up at his back and rumours swirling about him and his new co-star.”

            “I’m not fucking Bela.”

            Sam and Charlie shared a look.

            “What?” Cas snapped. He felt like he hadn’t slept in three days, even though he was sure he’d gotten at least three hours last night. Those three hours being the ones where Dean had been in the bed, curled against him, before his alarm had gone off and sent him to this hellscape of a meeting.

            “We’ve kept the rumours out of the tabloids so far,” Sam said, “but the set pictures that I have to approve for press once all the casting announcement are done are... rather friendly.”

            “Show me.”

            Sam sat down behind his desk – finally – and booted up his computer. Cas waited in the tense silence, refusing to look at Charlie, until Sam turned the screen around to show him. Nothing untoward was happening. But Cas could see why the rumours had been swirling and why Sam hadn’t approved the pictures yet. Bela had a way of standing too close to him, a habit of touching him in rather intimate places when she laughed, and he liked her as a friend. So the pictures of them smiling behind set, of her touching the inside of his elbow, and them setting up for the scene that had their first kiss in it felt like an affair. Even out of order, even mixed in with other pictures of the cast and crew, it looked bad.

            Cas swallowed. “I’m not dumping Dean for another fake relationship.”

            “And I don’t want you to,” Sam said. “Charlie and I have very different opinions on what will be good for the movie premiere. But we do agree on one thing – Dean’s current behaviour, as necessary as it is for him, is hurting you. And we need you to turn that press around.”

            “Isn’t it your job to do that?”

            “Yes, which is why I’m recommending you take Dean on the press tour with you.”

            “What?”

            “You’re hitting almost every state. It’ll be as good for his career as it is for yours and hopefully the constant motion will confuse the paparazzi enough that they’ll have more rumours and less photographic evidence.”

            “Keep Dean’s reputation but hide the evidence,” Cas said.

            “Exactly.”

            Cas sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Anything else?”

            He could practically hear the glance Sam and Charlie exchanged. But Sam dismissed him anyways and he headed for the elevators ahead of Charlie. He was half-surprised when she fell into step beside him and half-relieved. He had missed the ease of their relationship. He had missed their friendship.

            But before they even made it into the elevator, Charlie had turned that relief into annoyance. “They can recast you if they want,” she said.

            “The pilot’s already filmed. And the announcement drops today.” Cas checked his phone just to make sure it hadn’t dropped already. But at the top of the show’s Twitter page, Bela’s picture was still pinned. She smiled out at him, plastic and perfect and hateable from every angle. Cas knew that if Sam let those rumours loose, the fans would destroy her before they blamed him.

            “So? Pilot’s are recast all the time.” She stepped into the elevator and Cas hesitated before joining her. “They take place on different sets, with different people, and audiences let it go when the second episode happens in a different state with different actors. They blink and the pilot’s forgotten.”

            Cas chewed on the inside of his cheek. “You’re not gonna win this one.”

            “I’m just looking out for you.” Her voice bit into him. “Sam’s trying to protect both of you. I’m only here for you. So maybe you should trust my word over his when I tell you it’s better to drop Dean now.”

            “You heard what he said. It’s not your choice anymore.” Cas spared a glance at her, at her fiery eyes and tense posture. “If Dean and I break up, it’ll be our decision.” He thought about adding _so shut up_ but figured it was implied.

            The ride down the next twenty floors crackled with tension. Cas was almost afraid to keep using his phone in case the static fried it. Charlie stepped into the lobby before him and he waited almost until the doors closed before following her out. He slipped into the car idling outside the building, barely glancing up at the paparazzi that pressed towards him, and told the driver to take him home.

            He checked Twitter again. The show’s press coordinator had told him the announcement would drop at one o’clock ET. Which meant it should have dropped two minutes ago, at ten o’clock PT. He swallowed down the bile in his throat and told the voice in his head that Charlie hadn’t been right, that they hadn’t recast him. The internet was slow or the press coordinator had missed the hour or their automatic posting software was malfunctioning. Charlie wasn’t right.

            Cas refreshed the page again. And again. And again.

            The picture popped up right on top, taking over Bela’s. He looked positively sadistic in it, his grin stretching out his features. Glitter sparkled in his hair and dusted across his black shirt. He spent too long staring at it – he had no doubt he’d get another call from Claire about ruining her life – and then hit the retweet button. For a moment, he had no idea what to say about the role. Then he simply wrote, _you heard it here first._

But his notifications were blowing up before he hit post. Fans retweeted the original post and tagged him, asking for confirmation or simply screaming. Bela retweeted it with the words _can’t wait for you guys to see us together on screen!_ Dean retweeted it with _so proud of you babe._ And Cas felt his heart speed up with every new notification, every buzz of his phone. His palms started to sweat and his phone almost slipped from his grasp.

            He turned off Twitter notifications, then Tumblr, and finally the notifications from his Facebook fan page too. Before turning off his Instagram notifications, he found the show’s official profile and liked the picture they’d posted there as well. That post had been done precisely at ten o’clock. Maybe Cas had mixed up the social media order.

            The car approached home and Cas felt his stomach drop at the crowd of photographers on the front lawn. Sure, he hadn’t expected it to be empty, but usually he could see the grass beneath their feet. The driver met his eyes in the rear-view mirror. “You need any help out there?”

            “No, thanks.” Cas swallowed hard.

            Then he stepped out into the chaos. The reporters called his real name almost as often as they called out _Mason_ like he’d respond to the moniker of a fictional character he portrayed. Several of them called out questions about the books or the show itself or his co-stars. Someone asked if he’d noticed Bela was hot. Cas ignored them all. He’d have plenty of time to be interrogated about it once on the press tour for _Dreaded Darkness_.

            As he entered the house, he called out for Dean. Even with the door shut, the roar of the reporters was deafening. He made his way further into the dim halls. Every blind had been pulled, every curtain tied shut. He wandered through the kitchen, up to the bedroom, and around the laundry room before finally going to check the studio.

            Sure enough, Dean sat in the middle of the recording booth bent over a guitar. He strummed a few notes but nothing that sounded close to a song. Cas knocked on the door before he entered anyways and caught Dean’s eyes as he looked up.

            “Isn’t the album finished?”

            Dean nodded.

            “Then what are you doing in here?”

            “Hiding.” He set the guitar to the side with a smile. “Care to join?”

            Cas smiled back at him. “Sorry about... that.”

            Dean laughed. “Since when do you apologize to me about paparazzi?”

            “Since I figured out you hate it more than me.” Cas stepped forward and caressed Dean’s cheek. “Since it’s my fault and not yours.” He tilted his head down and kissed Dean softly, letting his lips linger.

            Dean hooked a finger into his waistband. “I can think of a way for you to make it up to me.”

            Cas hummed as he curled his fingers into Dean’s hair. “Really? How so?”

            “We do have this whole windowless, soundproof room where the paparazzi can’t see us...” Dean began.

            “Tempting, go on.”

            “Let’s make a blanket fort.”

            Cas almost laughed before he caught sight of Dean’s expression. Although Dean clearly knew his idea was ridiculous, he didn’t seem to be making a joke. Cas stepped back. “All right,” he said.

            Together, they left the studio and made their way quietly through the house. Even now, cameras clicked. Were they taking pictures of the house? Of their shadows behind the curtains? With digital cameras these days, Cas supposed they had film to waste. They took the pillows off the bed, then more from the closet. On their second trip, they gathered every rogue blanket in the house and stole the comforters from both beds. On the third trip, they dragged in chairs to hold up the roof and snacks to keep them happy. Then Cas left one last time to grab his laptop and charging cord.

            Soon, they snuggled together in a comfy fort. Cas had more pillows under him than he could ever remember sitting on before. Dean sat in between his legs and leaned back into his chest. He sipped soda through a liquorice straw. In front of them, _The Covenant_ played on Cas’ laptop. They’d dimmed the lights just enough to give the room a spooky feel as spiders filled the screen.

            Cas kissed the top of Dean’s head. “I thought you were going to ask me to blow you.”

            “You can still do that, if you want.”

            “So you can pretend its Sebastian Stan instead?”

            A smile cracked over Dean’s lips.

            Cas shoved Dean off him, into yet more pillows. Dean fell, laughing, and Cas rolled on top of him and kissed his neck. He worked his way up his jaw in wet, open-mouthed pecks before sucking on his earlobe and whispering, “Do you like him better than me now?”

            Dean hummed in consideration. He brushed his fingers through the hairs at the nape of Cas’ neck. “Grow out your hair and we’ll talk.”

            “He doesn’t even have long hair in this movie.”

            “But I can imagine what he _does_ look like with long hair.” Dean shrugged. “Can’t do that with you.”

            “You have a shitty imagination.”

            “Either kiss me again or get out of the way.”

            Cas paused, as if he was considering his options. So much of him wanted to roll off Dean and let him watch the movie in peace. But that petty part of him faltered in the face of his much stronger desire to kiss Dean until his breathing stopped. He pressed their lips together again, slow at first, and then with more pressure, coaxing Dean’s mouth open. Dean kissed back lazily, his fingers carding through Cas’ hair.

            Cas slipped a hand under Dean’s shirt and let his fingers tickle up his sides. He felt his breath catching, leaving him like it had the first time he’d touched him. He slipped his lips down Dean’s neck as his hands moved to his fly. Despite recent events, he was feeling generous under the translucent roof of their blanket fort.

            He kissed down Dean’s thighs as he pushed his underwear out of the way. With one hand, he rolled Dean’s balls and smiled against his skin as he groaned. No need to torture him. He pressed his lips to the tip of Dean’s cock and then swallowed him down.

            “Oh,” Dean groaned, “ _Sebastian.”_

Cas grabbed a pillow and slapped Dean in the face with it. Dean exclaimed in pain as Cas shifted back and hit him again. Soon, Dean had grabbed a pillow of his own and was swinging back. They bumped the laptop closed and collapsed half of the fort. Dean landed on top of Cas, his dick still out, and pressed the pillow down over his face.

            “Say uncle.”

            Cas struggled to get out from under him but couldn’t. With a sigh, he relented. “Uncle.”

            Dean shifted the pillow away and smiled down at him. “Aren’t you glad I have a soundproof, windowless room now?”

            “Very.” Cas pushed up on his elbows and kissed him.


	61. Chapter 61

“Are you saying that I don’t have a right to be able to leave my own damn house?” Dean shouted into the phone as he paced the living room. He could hear Cas’ footsteps upstairs, the slam of suitcases and clanging of hangers. He pinched the bridge of his nose against the impending headache. “No, Chuck, _you_ don’t understand. This is private property. Can’t I just call the damn cops on them?”

            “You _can_ ,” Chuck hedged, “but I don’t think that’s the kind of reputation you want with the paps.”

            “That’s exactly the reputation I want with them,” Dean snapped. He flinched as someone hammered on the door and a flash shot through the peephole. Dean stared at it for a moment before shaking off the creeping certainty that someone had just gotten a picture of him in his underwear. No way that shot turned out.

            “Look, I’m trying to get that restraining order through but—”

            “In the meantime, call the fucking cops. I haven’t left my house in three days. I’m going insane.”

            Chuck sighed. “I know.”

            Dean chewed on his tongue, hoping his manager would have something to add to those two words, even an empty consolation. But he said nothing else, just let his heavy breathing fill the line. “Well, thanks for nothing, Chuck.” Dean threw his phone at the couch and stopped facing the windows.

            They’d hung the comforters over the blinds when pictures started to appear online of their silhouettes. Dean had been tempted to stay in the studio forever but the space was much smaller filled with pillows, Cheetos dust, and two bodies. And now the cabin fever was getting to him. But the only thing he feared more than staying inside was going outside.

            “You have somewhere to be today?” Cas asked as he dragged a suitcase down the stairs.

            Dean winced at every bump but didn’t turn to look at him. “Nope.”

            “Are you rethinking joining me on the press tour?”

            “Nope.” Dean ground his teeth together. The last thing he wanted to do was make Cas his babysitter for two months. Sam had explained the logistics to him, the benefits to his career, the ease with which he’d be able to protect both of them from backlash, but Dean had held his ground. No press tour, no being Cas’ uncontrollable boyfriend on the road, no days without sleep and long flights knocked out on anti-anxiety medication.

            Cas’ arms curled around his waist and he pressed a kiss to Dean’s neck. “They’ll all be gone tomorrow.”

            “Hopefully.”

            “The worst of them, anyways,” Cas murmured against his skin. He pressed his body up against Dean’s back. “And I can think of some things to keep you occupied until then.”

            Dean didn’t reply.

            Cas crept a hand under his shirt. “Come on.” He kissed his shoulder. “I’m not going to see you for a few weeks. Don’t you want to make sure I won’t forget you?”

            “And see pictures of us fucking end up all over the front page? No, thanks.”

            “We could do it in the studio.”

            “I hate that fucking room.” Dean shifted his jaw and then stepped out of Cas’ grasp. He felt Cas startle as he moved, but he let go of him easily. Dean headed for the front door with determination, no idea what he was going to do, but knowing he had to do something.

            Just as he opened the door, Cas said, “Dean—” but he ignored him and barrelled out onto the front stoop.

            “Get off my fucking lawn!” Dean yelled as the sudden onslaught of camera flashes. “Get the fuck out!”

            “Dean! Dean! What’s it like dating one of the most famous men in Hollywood?”

            “Has Cas told you any spoilers about the show?”

            “Is there any chance you could make an appearance alongside him?”

            Dean stepped forward and a few reporters scrambled back. “What part of ‘get gone’ do you assholes not understand? This is my front lawn, not a red carpet! Fuck off!” He grabbed a microphone shoved in his face and pitched it over all their heads. “You think this is a joke? This is my house!”

            The reporters and cameras and microphones pressed forward. They jostled Dean, pressing him back one step and then another. Dean put his hands out to stop them, shoving a few bodies back and almost breaking a camera lens before pulling himself back. “You want money? A paycheque?” Dean reached for his wallet and started to pull out bills. “Here! Take it! Take it all, you vultures!”

            He threw cash out into the crowd but they kept snapping pictures, kept shouting questions. Dean felt his heart race in his chest, his pulse working hard in his throat. Sweat clung to his brow as the world started to blur at the edges. He swallowed hard and tried to keep his cool. “Take your payday and get out!”

            It wasn’t working. Dean had no idea why it wasn’t working. He had never had this big of a problem with the paparazzi before, never not been able to dissuade them from using a boring picture to make money. But maybe now even a shot of him standing on his stoop in his boxers was worth the payday, maybe even pictures of a blurry shadow that _might_ be him was worth more than the measly bills he threw out into the crowd.

            Before long, he ran out of cash. He bit down hard on his bottom lip, trying to stop the panic flooding through his chest and the tears that threatened to choke him. Somewhere in the distance, he heard sirens. He pushed back at the paparazzi that pushed at him. A guy tried to dodge around him, going for the door and yelling, “Cas! Cas!”

            Dean grabbed him by his collar and pulled him back. He slammed him into the wall. “That is my _home_ ,” Dean hissed. He shoved the guy back into the crowd.

            The man lost his footing, tripped down the stairs, and went down in a crowd of people and cameras. Dean stared at him, too shocked to move, as the reporters finally went quiet. He barely felt the hand on the back of his shirt. He allowed himself to get pulled backwards because otherwise his feet wouldn’t move. Nausea rolled in his stomach. His hands shook. He found it hard to blink.

            Cas shoved him into an armchair and cupped his face in his hands. “Are you okay?”

            Dean grabbed Cas’ hands and squeezed them tight. He forced himself to breathe slowly as his eyes darted around the room. The shouting outside started up again, the camera flashes, the roar of outrage - and then, sirens blasted through all the noise. Dean heard cops shouting, shooing, and making their way for the front door.

            “Fuck,” he whispered.

            “It’s okay,” Cas said. “I called them. It’s gonna be okay.”

            Dean wanted to find some way to reassure Cas that he was alright, that he didn’t have to look so goddamn worried. But he’d barely caught his breath. He leaned forward out of the chair and Cas caught him, wrapping him up in a hug for a moment before someone knocked on the door. The worst of the noise had died down.

            Cas extricated himself to go to the door.

            Dean buried his face in his hands and did his best to get out the tears while Cas was distracted. He heard the whispered conversation, Cas’ pleasantries and politeness, the officer’s easy tone. After a moment, a hand pressed down on his shoulder.

            Dean looked up to see a woman older than him with short black hair and a strained smile. She patted him on the shoulder and then sat down on the coffee table.

            “How you doing, kid?”

            Dean blinked. “You don’t seem old enough to call me that.”

            She laughed, then offered her hand. “I appreciate it. Officer Mills, but you can call me Jody.”

            Dean stared at her outstretched hand. Instead of taking it, he met her eyes and said, “Is he pressing charges?”

            “The paparazzo you shoved?” Jody shrugged. “Wouldn’t worry about him. We rounded him up with the rest of them but, if he chooses to press charges, I’m sure the DA will agree with me when I say it was provoked.”

            He swallowed hard. “Really?”

            “Really.” She grasped his shoulder again and shook him a little, a friendly smile spreading across her lips. Everything about her happiness seemed strained even though it struck Dean as genuine. She had the look of someone who’d had to fight for every bit of happiness in her life. “Look, I know you celebrity types don’t like getting the cops involved over a bit of press, but if you ever need a hand again, I hope you’ll give me a call.”

            She pulled a card out of her shirt pocket along with a pen. She wrote a number on the back. “That is my personal cell number,” she said as she pressed the card into Dean’s palm. “I want you to call it any time you need a squad car on your front lawn, okay?”

            Dean spun the card between his fingers. “What if you’re off duty?”

            “I’ll still be here.”

            Dean stared at her for a long moment, trying to tell if she was fishing for anything. As far as he could tell, she wasn’t. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll try not to let it get out of hand again.”

            Cas led Jody out, thanked her again, and then walked back over to Dean. With a sigh, he sat down on the armrest of Dean’s chair and looked down at him. He rubbed one hand down his back in soothing circles.

            “Now will you come with me?”

             Dean let out a strangled laugh, barely an exhale. “Why?” He glanced up at Cas. “So you can keep an eye on me?”

            “Is that what you think?” Cas slid off the armrest and landed half on top of Dean. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “No. I don’t want to keep an eye on you or stop you from doing stupid shit or babysit you. I want you to come because I’m going to miss you.”

            Dean stared at him.

            “I don’t get to see you for three weeks if you don’t come. When’s the last time we went that long without seeing each other?”

            “Since before we started fucking?”

            A smile itched at Cas’ lips. “I can’t do it. I don’t want to do it.”

            “Maybe it’ll be a good thing, some time apart.”

            “Is that really how you feel?”

            Dean met Cas’ blue-eyed gaze, tried to hold on to that one last thread of his dignity. Then he shook his head and dropped his forehead against Cas’ chest. For a moment, he just listened to his heartbeat and tried to match the pace of his breathing.

            “No,” he whispered, somewhat hoping his words might get lost on their way up to him. “I’d miss you too.”

            Cas kissed the top of his head and pulled him closer.


	62. Chapter 62

Cas knew the redeye to New York was a necessity but that didn’t stop him from hating it. He slept through most of the flight, except for an hour near the middle where he felt like the rest of the plane was under a sleeping spell only he had broken out of. He’d fallen asleep with his fingers entangled in Dean’s and Dean’s head was on his shoulder. For an hour, he’d done his best not to move as he stared blankly at the silent TV screen in front of him.

            Chuck rushed them both through the airport with a slew of instructions that Cas barely caught – something about them not needing to get their own luggage, the paparazzi being tipped off for the wrong airport, and an hour in the hotel until go time. Cas spent most of his speech blinking the sleep out of his eyes. Without Charlie there, he felt like he was missing a limb.

            Their luggage arrived at the hotel before they did. Despite Chuck’s insistence that he’d given the tabloids all the wrong information, cameras still greeted them at the hotel doors. Cas ducked his head along with Dean as they were shuffled inside by men in black suits. That was another thing Cas was sure he’d never get used to – the sudden influx of security.

            He’d tried to convince Dean they didn’t need it, but between the confrontation with the paparazzi and Sam’s insistence that things would only get worse leading up to the movie premiere, Cas dropped the argument sooner than he would have liked to. He agreed to have security meet them in New York and fly with them for the rest of the tour. He’d managed to barely blink an eye when Dean had requested two people be on the team – Benny and Donna. Cas had never heard of either of them.

            As they entered the hotel room, Cas stuttered to a stop. A woman was on the floor by the bed, poking around under the mattress. Dean bumped into him from behind.

            The woman popped up, saw them, and smiled brightly. Cas stepped away just as Dean shifted to move around him. Before the woman even got a word out, Dean gave her a hug. “Thanks for coming, Donna.”

            “My pleasure,” she said, beaming up at him. Then she offered her hand to Cas. “You must be the boyfriend. Don’t you worry, this room is in tip-top shape. Nothing out of place. All secure.”

            “Uh... thank you.” Cas shook her hand.

            As she headed out, Cas turned back to Dean with a doubtful look.

            Dean smiled, looking relaxed for the first time in weeks, and Cas felt the tension drain out of his feet. Dean stepped forward and took Cas’ shoulders. “I know you’re not used to the security,” he said, “but they’re a big help when you need them. Donna’s pulled me out of packed clubs before, even saved my life.”

            Cas nodded. “I’m sure she’s great.” He couldn’t shake the feeling that they should switch rooms, even knowing Donna was on their security team. He scratched the back of his neck, looking around for something to do, but their bags had already been unpacked. He sat down on the bed.

            Dean sat down beside him. He leaned close and whispered, “Three... two... one.”

            As he pointed at the door, Chuck walked through it. “What are you doing? Didn’t you hear me? You have an interview in half an hour. Up, up, up.”

            Dean laughed as Cas got to his feet. He turned back at the last second to kiss Dean, then followed Chuck out into the hallway. Two men in suits immediately stepped away from the wall to follow them. Cas felt chills run up his back but tried to shake them off as Chuck rattled on about this being the premiere out of town interview, how the interviewers were likely to go easy on them both, and then added, almost out of nowhere, “Just don’t let Balthazar push you into a fight.”

            Cas blinked. Balthazar. He had almost forgotten that he’d have to deal with the other man at all, yet alone right away. Charlie would have warned him, would have whispered in his ear for days, but she was off in Geneva with some troubled rock star client of hers who’d checked himself into rehab without the help of a publicist. The whole story sounded like bullshit to Cas, like an easy way for her to ditch him when he was on tour with the boyfriend she hated, but he wished her and her rock star well all the same.

            Cas got through hair and makeup without incident. A clean-cut PA with a Napoleon complex led him through the schedule step-by-step and handed him a paper copy of the interview questions the studio had emailed him last night. Cas almost asked if most of the stars the PA dealt with needed such detailed instructions but he held his tongue. The kid was good at his job and there was no need to embarrass him for being thorough.

            Following the PA to the stage, Cas recited his answers under his breath. He practiced his press smile until his cheeks ached and then stretched out his jaw. As he rounded a corner, he spotted Balthazar already perched in a cream armchair, his long legs crossed, and a cheery smile on his lips as he flirted with a nearby PA. Cas rolled his eyes to get it out of the way before he sat down on the couch.

            “Castiel, old sport,” Balthazar said as he turned to look at him. His eyes barely flicked onto his before he redirected his attention to the security team waiting just beyond the cameras. “Did your boyfriend hire people to punch me this time?”

            “I think pissing on your star was enough for him.”

            Balthazar laughed. “Now that was a good little stunt. The city called to ask if I wanted them to press formal vandalism charges and I just laughed and laughed. What a character he is.”

            Cas bit down on his tongue as his skin prickled.

            “Do you think I’m his type?”

            He gave Balthazar a blank look. As loose as Balthazar played it, as much as he winked at everything that moved, he was straight as a board and Cas knew it well. But he forced himself to shrug and say, “Why not take a shot? We both know how much he likes to cheat on me on tour.”

            Balthazar’s smile flickered so fast Cas wasn’t sure he’d even seen it. But yes, just for a moment, that patented asshole smirk had faded in the face of Cas’ easy retort. He felt his own smile widen, become more genuine, even as Balthazar said, “Maybe I will. Would you give me his number?”

            Without blinking, Cas recited Dean’s number. Or, rather, he said seven numbers in a row preceded by an L.A. area code and hoped Balthazar didn’t have the balls to call it. He had no need to memorize Dean’s phone number. It had been in his contacts since before they were even friends, since Charlie had put it in and said, “Just in case you ever need to know where he is.”

            Balthazar kept up a steady stream of updates on his life and thinly veiled insults until the host joined them on set. Cas shook her hand and Balthazar kissed her knuckles. She went through the questions with them briefly, along with what she planned to say around them, and told them both to have fun and loosen up. Cas smiled back at her, relaxing in the face of her easy likeability, not too afraid that she’d blindside him.

            The interview went off without a hitch. A few times, they re-taped sequences where the host messed up the wording or Cas accidentally swore or Balthazar stepped away from the party line. At one point, completely unprompted, Balthazar said, “Of course, it was odd to work with Cas without his wife around. Even odder to be in bed with him and not her.”

            To which Cas replied, “We all know you would have preferred a threesome.”

            Balthazar had turned to stare at him, face completely blank, and the host had laughed.

            “You have some claws now, don’t you?” she said.

            Cas had shrugged.

            As he left the studio, the Napoleonic PA reappeared to go over the promotion contract with him and Cas nodded along even though he stopped listening to him. He reached the door but, before he could grab the handle, one of the security guards stepped in front of him. Cas flinched backwards.

            “Sorry,” he said as the guard turned. “I’m just... not used to it.”

            The man smiled. He had the kind of sharp smile that both radiated kindness and warned people away at the same time. Salt and pepper stubble grew on his round chin, about the same length and thickness as the hair on his head. All the same, he didn’t seem much older than Cas himself, if he was older at all.

            “No worries, Mr. Novak.” He offered his hand. “I’m Benny Lafitte, head of your security team.”

            “Benny,” Cas repeated. “Didn’t Dean request you for his team?”

            “He requested me for _your_ team. Donna heads his team. Always has, always will.”

            Cas nodded as he gave the man a quick and, he hoped, surreptitious once-over. He wasn’t particularly tall but he had a solid build and seemed intimidating enough to keep overzealous paparazzi at bay. And, Cas supposed, if Dean trusted him, that was good enough for him.

            “So what do I do?” Cas asked.

            “What do you mean?”

            “I mean, do I wait for you to go outside first? Do I call you before I go out? How does this work?”

            Benny laughed. “I am at your beck and call, Mr. Novak. Either me or my team will be around for all your official events, we’ll cover the perimeter and make sure you’re safe in between your building and the car, but other than that, what we do is completely up to you. If you want to leave the hotel alone, we won’t stop you.”

            “But you probably should.”

            “Probably. But only if you want us to. We work for you.”

            Cas nodded, thinking through what that meant going forward. “Okay,” he said finally. He gestured at the door. “Let’s go.”

            Benny stepped through the door, looked around, and then held the door open for Cas. Cas tried to figure out what he was looking for – paparazzi? fans? danger? – but saw nothing on the backstreet except for his idling car. He let Benny open the car door for him and slid in. Benny sat down beside him, closed the door, and then rapped his fist on the divider to let the driver know they were good to go. A woman dressed from head to toe in black sat across from them on her phone and neither she nor Benny made a move to introduce her as the car moved forward.

            Cas let this slide for approximately thirty seconds before he said, “I’m sorry. Who are you?”

            “Meg,” she said without looking up.

            Cas pursed his lips.

            “Meg is your secret weapon,” Benny explained. “Me and one of the guys will always be with you, unless we run into a situation where we’re too conspicuous or we need to move you quicker than intended. If such a thing happens, Meg steps in and pulls you away.”

            He kicked Meg in the leg. “Look up, he needs to know your face.”

            She looked up, dark curls bouncing away from her round face. When she smiled, it felt like getting slapped at a bar for being too friendly. “Hi,” she said, then looked right back down at her phone.

            Cas wished he felt safer. Instead, he just felt more awkward. He looked forward to his alone time in the back of cars, the quiet he kept to himself when walking from place to place in a new city, and the happy rush of a sudden group of adoring fans crowding him on the street. All of that stopped with the security team in place.

            As Cas pulled out his phone, he considered texting Dean and talking to him about it. But security had been Dean’s idea and these people were the closest thing he had to friends, or at least it seemed that way. So, instead, Cas clicked the button to call Jack and waited for the phone to ring.

            Voicemail. Of course.

            “Hi, honey,” Cas said. He looked out the window and tried to force away the feeling of being watched. He tried to force the tired and the sad right out of his voice. “You wanted me to call when I landed and, well, I’ve landed. Safe and sound. I hope you’re having a good day at school. Call me when you can. Love you. Bye.”


	63. Chapter 63

“We’re here today with rock star, Dean Winchester,” the radio host said. “Welcome, Dean. Thank you so much for agreeing to speak with us today.”

            “Happy to be here.” Dean smiled across the mess of microphones as he adjusted the headphones on his ears. He loved the buzz of a radio station – the quiet busyness of a place that should have faded from existence by now but still persisted. He rested his arms on the table in front of him and rolled his chair closer.

            “So, your new single, _I Don’t Really Love You_ has been racing up the charts lately,” the host said. “And I think the question we’ve all been asking ourselves is: who exactly is this song about?”

            Dean chuckled. “You know, not every song is _about_ someone. And I think this is the perfect example of that. It’s more about a feeling, a situation. I think everyone, or at least everyone who doesn’t think before they speak, has been in a situation where they’ve said something loaded, like _I love you_ , to someone without even meaning it. And this song comes from that kind of experience.”

            “Who have you said I love you too, lately?”

            “You mean other than my boyfriend?”

            The host laughed. “Speaking of Castiel, how is he doing?”

            Dean shrugged. “Fine. He’s having a great time on the tour for his movie. We’ve been in three cities in the last week, just doing press and exploring. It’s been a great time, really.”

            “What’s that like?”

            “What’s what like?”

            “Being on someone else’s press tour. Being someone’s plus one instead of promoting your own stuff.”

            Dean blinked and tried to control the urge to bite down. He slipped his tongue between his teeth, licking his lips, and forced the words out. Silence on the radio was worse than silence on a TV set. Fucking up on the radio was too dangerous, as everything was live, right to the listeners, and recorded for prosperity.

            “I am promoting my own stuff,” Dean said. “Why else do you think I’m here?”

            The host gave him a pity laugh but didn’t let up. “But, for the most part, you’re just following your boyfriend around, aren’t you? You’re no longer the big name in your relationship. Are you feeling at all overshadowed?”

            Dean knew his whole face must be projecting his hatred of the guy but he barely blinked when he met Dean’s eyes. Dean forced a smile, even though he didn’t have to. The listeners at home wouldn’t know if he flipped the guy off, let alone frowned at him. “Of course not. I’m happy for Cas, for his movie, and I agreed to come along to be with him and to help with the press. I’m in the film too, as you know, and I’m happy to help out where I can. I’m still promoting my album on the road and, overall, I think it’s been a great move for both of our careers.”

            “And there’s no hint of jealousy there?”

            “No. I love Cas.”

            “So the song’s not about him, then?”

            Dean forced himself to laugh. “Not at all.”

            “Then, without further ado, here is Dean Winchester singing his newest single, _I Don’t Really Love You,_ live on KLFM.”

            Dean slid back from the mic, accepted the guitar offered to him, and went to stand in the mini recording space they’d set up for him. He started the song strong and sang his heart into it, pouring every bit of his hatred for the host into the lyrics. He finished to scattered applause from the studio employees, shook the host’s hand, and left while the commercials played. Usually, he chatted with the host for a bit. But, when the host tried to follow him out, Donna stopped him and made up some bullshit about how they had a lot to do today.

            Dean smiled to himself as he slipped out into the hallway. Sometimes he loved Donna more than he loved the people he didn’t pay to spend time with him.

            “He’s got a point, you know,” she said as she fell into step beside him.

            He glanced up from his phone to look at her.

            “Not like that.” She waved her hand in the air between them. “Just that, what _have_ you been doing to promote your album on this tour? Cas gets all the limelight, all those fans following him around because he’s Mason Haverford, and you’ve done what, other than a few radio shows?”

            “I like radio shows.”

            “Sure, sure. But who really listens to the radio anymore?”

            Dean bit his bottom lip. He couldn’t disagree with that but he, for the most part, just did what Chuck told him too. He flipped through the notifications on his phone and felt himself bristle as almost all of them were about Cas. The tabloids mentioned him as a footnote. A few of the tweets he’d been tagged on in Twitter were people asking him to “share” or saying he didn’t deserve Cas. He thought their relationship had outgrown that in the early days of faking it but apparently not.

            Donna peeked over his shoulder. “That host hit a nerve.”

            “I’m not jealous.”

            “Didn’t say you were.”

            Dean met her eyes. They both knew that was exactly what she was saying, what she was implying, and he sighed. “Maybe I am. But it’s not like I _want_ to be. He’s doing great, I’m happy for him, it’s just...”

            “You used to be the star.”

            “I’m still a star.”

            Donna hummed her agreement as she stepped ahead of him to check the street before they went outside. She turned back with a serious expression, told him there was a smattering of paparazzi outside, and asked what he wanted to do. Dean felt that familiar, egotistical swell in his heart, and told her to let them at it but keep them back. They stepped out onto the street together.

            Dean offered them a half wave, a small smile, and stepped briskly towards the car. Donna kept them back but let them take their pictures and tried to stay mostly out of the way. Dean liked pictures where he had security, liked what it said about him. He slipped into the car to find Meg sitting across from him.

            “Did Cas not need you today?”

            The corners of her mouth turned up but she stayed focused on her phone. “You ever tell him about Benny?”

            Dean licked his bottom lip. “Nope.”

            She clicked her tongue. “That’s gonna bite you in the ass.”

            “Stop fighting, you two,” Donna said as she slammed the door closed and gave the driver the go ahead.

            Dean turned to look out the back window as the paparazzi chased them down the street, cameras clicking. He flipped them the bird as Donna asked about his plans for the night. He knew what she meant – were there any stunts he wanted to pull, what did he plan to take, who was he going to be with – but he simply shrugged. An idea was rolling around in the back of his mind as he flicked through his notifications.

            Chuck had texted him dates and times for several new interviews, including the interview with Cas for the movie. Dean looked forward to that one. Despite sleeping in the same hotel room and being on every plane ride together, he felt like he’d barely seen Cas in the last week and a half. They had been ships passing in the night – one of them awake, the other asleep or one of them on their way in when the other was on their way out. Sam had started to bug him about staging dates on the road or at least squeezing in walks by popular paparazzi spots so the rumours stopped.

            The rumours that popped up every time Dean showed up somewhere with someone other than Cas, every time he smiled at a fan or put his arm around one. Apparently, tours meant cheating and it didn’t matter that they were on the tour together. Sometimes Dean wanted to call the reporters making these claims and ask them where he thought he took his one night stands or when they thought he had time for them. He wanted to send them copies of his schedule and ask them to fit in affairs for him, because he could barely find the time to fuck Cas, let alone someone else.

            He tried to brush off the annoyance as Chuck texted again, confirming that his single remained at the top of the charts. He had asked several times if they could release a second single and every time Chuck had told him the label wanted to wait. And wait. And wait.

            On a whim, Dean opened up the messenger app.

            **Dean:** _how quickly could you put a concert together?_

 **Chuck:** _Few months_.

            **Dean:** _Forget promotion, location buys, and everything logistical. How fast can you get a concert set up somewhere random with no warning, except maybe for the press?_

**Chuck:** _Few hours._

Dean smiled to himself and put his phone away.

            Donna nudged him in the side. “What’s that smile for, buddy boy?”

            “Don’t you worry your pretty little head.”

            “Oh, I’m already past worrying.” Her phone buzzed and Dean saw Chuck’s name appear. Because, of course, if he wanted to set up a rogue concert, the most important concern was security. Donna met his eyes again with a smile. “Look at that. Your manager rats you out again.”

            “It’s almost like he knows when I’m about to pull the wool over your eyes.”

            Donna laughed as Meg rolled her eyes. Dean settled back against the seat and let his eyes close, feeling the energy drain out of him almost as quickly as it had come to him. That night, he’d be on a flight to another city. And there was another flight a few days after that, another city, another interview, and three more hours of sleep in an unfamiliar bed before he had to wake up once again to get to the airport at the crack of dawn. The earlier the flight, the less likely paparazzi would book tickets just to take photos of them sleeping on airport benches.


	64. Chapter 64

Cas curled back against the pillows in the Houston hotel room. He liked the place well enough – yellow wallpaper, a few non-descript photos of flowers, and a comfy king-sized bed. He had his iPad propped against his knees, his eyes half-closed as he flipped through articles Charlie had flagged for him. Even as she left the day-to-day stuff up to Chuck, she had the time to send him incriminating photos of Dean with the note _things you may get blindsided with_.

            He yawned as he poked through the headlines. Most of them weren’t even full articles, just spot pictures of Dean with pretty girls or tall guys with neon-coloured text that said things like _OMG_ and _CHEATER ALERT!_ Cas had almost stopped looking at the articles a week ago, but he had a morbid curiosity about it and a masochistic streak that wanted to know all the things his boyfriend might be doing behind his back.

            As he hit an interesting article from a somewhat reputable source, Cas heard the door to the hotel room open with a bang. He didn’t look up – he was deep into a semi-psychoanalytic paragraph about how Dean cheated when he felt threatened by his partner’s success – and was surprised when he heard Dean say, “Oh. You’re here.”

            Cas looked up and smiled. He’d expected Benny or Meg or maybe Donna doing a sweep of the room again. “I’m here,” he said.

            Dean smiled back at him and dropped his bag. “I have a few more things coming, unless that’s gonna bug you.”

            He waved him off. “Go ahead,” he said, eyes already back on the article.

            As Dean and a few other people stuffed what seemed to be concert equipment into the room, Cas continued to skim his way down the article. After the semi-psychoanalysis, it had descended into normal tabloid trash with innocent pictures of Dean and made up interviews with people who had “seen him” in compromising situations.

            Just as the hotel door opened again, Cas reached a paragraph that caught his interest.

            _What this reporter finds most interesting is not the slew of female fans Dean is allegedly throwing himself at, but the addition of his publicly confirmed sleepover buddy, Benny Lafitte, to his security team. While the two have never been official, two years ago when rumours were swirling about the two potentially being an item, Dean confirmed in this interview that he had a more_ personal _relationship with his then-bodyguard and now security head._

Cas clicked on the link just as Dean asked him what he was reading. Dean’s voice flooded through the room, crackling over the iPad speakers. _“I think it’s just ridiculous how much you people care about my sex life, but if you really want to know, yes. Congrats. You got one right. I’ve slept with Benny.”_

Cas paused the clip and looked up at Dean, who didn’t even have the good grace to look embarrassed. Cas wasn’t sure if he wanted him to. His stomach curled inwards, nausea rolling, and it took him a few moments to speak. When he did, he spoke right over Dean.

            “Why didn’t you tell me?”

            “You’re reading that shit?”

            Cas stayed quiet.

            Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair. A thin sheen of sweat covered his skin from the exertion of hauling up the guitar cases and amps that now cluttered the doorway. He pulled up the bottom of his shirt and wiped the bridge of his nose, exposing his gleaming chest. Despite himself, despite the sick feeling in his head and the anger covering the surface of his emotions, Cas let his eyes fall across Dean’s abs and down the trail of hair leading to his waistband.

            Dean smirked when his shirt dropped. “You sure you want to talk about this?”

            “Yes.” Cas blinked and forced himself to meet Dean’s eyes. He set his iPad aside and shifted to sit crossed-legged on the bed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

            “Do you really care? It was years ago.”

            “You specifically requested that this guy come with us.”

            “Because he’s good at his job.”

            “And you’ve fucked him.”

            Dean tilted his head to the side. “Other way around, but yeah.”

            “Because that’s relevant.”

            Sighing, Dean took another step forward. He bumped up against the bottom of the bed and shook it slightly. “None of it is relevant,” he said. “Benny and I slept together a couple of times when I was on tour a few years ago. When I see him, yeah, we usually hook up. We haven’t recently, because I’m with you and I take that seriously, no matter what the press says. And I didn’t request him for my team. I requested him for _yours_ because I know you don’t like the security and you don’t want them around and I thought you’d like Benny.”

            Cas looked down at his feet. “I do like him.”

            “Then what’s the problem?”

            “I just think it’s kind of weird that you didn’t tell me you used to date my head of security.”

            “We didn’t date!” Dean laughed, a wide smile breaking over his lips. He walked a bit closer and ran his fingers up Cas’ thigh. When he met his eyes, he gave him a pointed but soft look. “Is this really what you want to spend the night talking about?”

            “You don’t want to talk at all.”

            “I don’t think that’s just me.” Dean leaned forward and kissed him.

            Cas pushed him back. “Just promise me nothing’s happening between you two.”

            “Nothing’s happening.” Dean unbuckled his belt. “Nothing has happened with Benny, or anyone else. I wouldn’t hurt you like that.” He undid his zipper. “Say you believe me.”

            “I believe you.”

            Dean dropped his jeans to the floor to reveal hot pink panties underneath. When Cas’ eyes dipped, Dean used one finger to tilt his chin back up. Despite the shit-eating grin gracing his lips, he said, “Say you’ll fuck me?”

            Cas glanced down. “Have you been wearing those all day?”

            “Yes.” Dean shifted even closer, his breath ghosting over Cas’ lips. “Say you’ll fuck me.”

            “I’ll fuck you,” Cas said with a laugh. He closed the space between their lips as he reached for Dean. He pulled Dean’s shirt off even as the other man climbed on top of him, settling his silk-clad ass down onto Cas’ pajama-clad thighs. As Dean started to undo the buttons of Cas’ shirt, Cas tried to talk through the messy, burning kisses. “Wait, wait. Get my pants off.”

            “No.” Dean kissed under his ear.

            Cas whined as Dean pushed the shirt off his shoulders. He helped to throw it off the bed, murmuring useless words against Dean’s lips as they kissed again. He felt Dean’s fingers skidding down his chest, going slow just to tease him. Dean slid up Cas’ thighs until their crotches brushed and he moaned into the kiss.

            “You’re the one who wants this,” Cas mumbled as Dean went back to kissing his neck. “So, really, torturing me is only delaying your own—”

            “Shut up.” Dean chuckled. “You’re gonna fuck me whether I let you do it now or I take all night getting you out of those pants. So stop acting like you’ve got any damn control when it comes to me.”

            “I have just... so much control.”

            “So much.” Dean pressed their lips together briefly then shifted back down his legs. He pressed his mouth against Cas’ clothed crotch and started to suck him off through the thin cotton. Cas whined deep in his throat, but did his best not to move as Dean slowly started to pull down his pants. He scraped his nails against Cas’ hips as the waistband curled lower, his hot, wet breath causing Cas’ dick to get painfully hard.

            He sat up before he got Cas’ dick out and then pulled Cas’ pants off the rest of the way calmly. He dropped them on the ground and then looked back up at Cas with a curious gaze and thinly-veiled glee.

            “I hate you,” Cas said.

            “So much.” Dean leaned forward and kissed him, pushing him down into the pillows. He lay fully on top of Cas, only the silk of his panties in between them. Cas moaned into the sensation of soft friction, feeling Dean’s hard cock brushing up against the crook of his hip as they kissed.

            He wanted to beg the way Dean begged him, wanted to promise him things he couldn’t guarantee. But Dean kept his tongue occupied, kisses controlled and careful, like he was worried about words slipping out around them. Their hips hitched together, every thrust a lovely pull of friction that heated up Cas’ skin and made more sounds pour out of his throat.

            He curled his legs around Dean’s waist and pulled him in. He gripped his back, his ass, anything to get him closer. Their chests slid together in a mess of sweat. Cas felt his breathing hitch and Dean’s too – the kissing broke long enough for them both to catch their breath before Dean smashed their lips back together and started to thrust with more force.

            Cas whined at the friction. His dick ached to be touched by something other than silk. He gripped Dean’s ass and pulled him in with every thrust, begging with the inconsistent moans that left his lips.

            Then Dean’s hand came down around his neck, just hard enough to push him out of the kiss. His face was flushed, lips bitten red, and he had to take a second to catch his breath. Cas saw the blush spreading down his chest, the heat and sweat of the room overtaking him. He wanted to kiss every speck of moisture off of him, spend hours wrapped up in the bed sheets and never come up for air.

            “I’m gonna come.”

            “Then come.” Cas tried to pull him back down but Dean rolled off him.

            Cas whimpered and let himself relax into the bed. He heard Dean rummaging through the room, looking for lube, no doubt, and, after a moment, managed to prop himself up on his elbows. Dean had bent over to look through his suitcase and Cas had to curb the urge to bite his ass. “If you touch my cock now, I’ll come.”

            Dean chuckled but it sounded strained. “Do you really want to come dry-humping like a couple of teenagers?”

            “Yeah.” Cas restrained himself for as long as possible before slipping off the bed. He wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist, pressing his cock up against his ass, and bit into the crook of his shoulder. “Or I could fuck you against this wall.”

            Dean dropped the lube in his hands. “Fuck. You kinda need that.”

            Cas hummed against his skin, not letting up as he shifted them both forward. Dean scrambled for the lube again, got it, then reached out a hand in time just in time to not head-butt the wall. Chuckling, he lifted a shaking hand behind him to offer the lube to Cas.

            Cas took it and made quick work of lubing himself up, cursing as the cold gel touched his dick, and then warmed it up a bit before shoving a finger into Dean. Dean gasped and Cas tried to remind himself not be rough, that it had been a while, until seconds later, Dean said, “Add another.”

            Abandoning rational thought, Cas added a second finger and then quickly a third, nudging the panties out of the way just enough to reach his hand in. He tucked them under Dean’s butt cheeks, breathing heavily. Then he gripped his hip, pushing him forward just to test how well he was braced against the wall.

            “Ready?”

            “Have been for a while,” Dean gritted out.

            Cas could almost feel how hard Dean was trying not to come just from his fingers. He could feel it, because just pressed up against the back of Dean’s thigh he felt on edge himself. Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he guided his cock into Dean’s hole and bottomed out quickly as Dean cursed his name. He pressed up against his back, steadying his hold on Dean’s hip, and pressed his face into Dean’s shoulder, breathing heavily.

            “Move,” Dean said.

            “If I move, I’ll come.”

            “Fucking amateur,” Dean bit out.

            Cas crept a hand around the front of Dean’s hip but he stopped him before he got too close to his dick. No words needed to be said. But Cas said them anyways, “Fucking hypocrite.”

            He stood still, or shaking, for a long minute, buried to the hilt inside of Dean. He felt tight and hot already, then Dean started to clench around him. “Fuck you,” Cas breathed out before pulling back and slamming into Dean as hard as he could. He kept one hand on his hip and placed the other beside Dean’s own on the wall.

            He thrust into him fast and hard, not caring if he hit his G-spot or not. Before long, Dean was cursing and whimpering his name and begging for him to go just a little harder. Cas did the best he could, pressing right up against his back and pushing him further into the wall. He wrapped his hand around Dean’s cock and squeezed the base, just to hear him beg.

            He came before Dean did. Wet and messy and sticky inside of him, breathing heavily into his shoulder, biting down into the indent he’d made in Dean’s skin. Then he jacked Dean off. Three stokes and Dean came into his silk panties. Come dripped over Cas’ fingers and down Dean’s legs.

            Cas turned him around, slammed him back against the wall and kissed him heavily. Dean kissed him right back, neither of them breathing properly. When Cas broke the kiss for air, he raised his fingers to Dean’s lips and said, “Suck.”

            Without even a whine, Dean sucked the come off of Cas’ fingers. He did it greedily, his tongue sweeping between digits. He did his best to step away from the wall even as Cas held his hip down with a shaking hand. When Dean finished, Cas kissed the salty taste off his lips, off his tongue, pressing their sweaty bodies together. He felt the come dripping down Dean’s legs and onto his own.

            “We should—” he began.

            “Again,” Dean said.

            Cas almost laughed. He would have, if he’d had the breath to laugh. “I can’t.”

            “I sure fucking can.” He guided Cas’ hand down to his crotch.

            Cas swallowed his surprise that Dean was once again half hard and instead wrapped his hand around Dean’s cock. He stroked him slowly at first and then quicker as he felt his energy start to fade. Dean’s tongue explored the corners of his mouth, taking the kiss over again as Cas tried to focus on his breathing and Dean’s hot cock in the palm of his hand.

            Dean came again, weaker, less come spilling into Cas’ fingers.

            He took Cas’ hand almost immediately and pulled out of the kiss to lick up the rest of his come. Cas leaned forward, kissing his shoulder as he worked. He spread his hand over Dean’s chest and twisted a nipple, loving the rumbled groan that worked its way through Dean’s body.

            As Dean popped off his fingers, he sighed. “We can shower now, if you want.”

            “No.” Cas kissed down his chest and licked around his nipple.

            Dean brushed his fingers through his hair. “I can’t stand much longer.”

            Cas hummed against his skin, then pulled back. He led Dean back to the bed and Dean flopped down on his back without complaint. Cas crawled on top of him and went back to kissing the sweat from his skin, letting his tongue sweep over his chest in long swipes just to follow it up with smaller kisses.

            The whole room smelled of sweat and come but Cas couldn’t think of anything else he wanted to be smelling. He licked down the inside of Dean’s thighs, then pulled off the ruined panties. He held them in his hands for a moment and then asked, “Were these expensive?”

            Dean shrugged. “Seven for thirty-five.”

            “Can I keep them?”

            The corner of Dean’s mouth quirked upwards – the closest he could get to a smirk when so fucked out. “You want to keep my come-stained panties?”

            “Yup.”

            “You’re so weird.” He closed his eyes but his smile burst across his lips.

            Cas dropped the panties onto the floor and went back to sucking on every inch of Dean’s skin. A phone buzzed against the bedside table and Cas felt Dean shift to reach for it. He almost asked him not to and then decided to focus on the salty taste in his mouth instead.

            “Charlie wants us to do a photoshoot for _Out_ magazine.”

            Cas looked up at Dean from his spot by his knee. “She texts you now?”

            Dean waved the phone from side to side. “Your phone.”

            Cas felt oddly warm and bubbly about that, his phone in Dean’s hand, his pass-code known to someone other than him. He thought about the way he’d once panicked over Dean seeing his lock screen. And he smiled. “Yeah, let’s do it. An interview too?”

            “Presumably.” Dean typed out an answer.

            “Tell her it’s you.”

            “She’ll know.”

            Cas decided not to ask what that meant as he worked his way back up Dean’s leg and wrapped his lips around one of his balls. Dean groaned and shifted forward, almost imperceptibly. As Cas licked up his dick, Dean curled his fingers in his hair and scratched the top of his head. Cas breathed in the scent of come and sweat and sex and sucked on the head as he finally felt his jaw begin to cramp.


	65. Chapter 65

Dean clapped Chuck on the shoulder as he and Cas walked onto set. “Sorry we’re late.”

            “Maybe stop having quickies in the car,” Chuck said with a sigh.

            Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Cas’ cheeks go bright red. He reached for his hand, curling their fingers together, as he said, “Maybe start scheduling our sex lives.”

            “Don’t think I won’t.”

            Dean tugged Cas along after Chuck as he started to weave through the moving pieces of the all black set. Dean had never been to an interview like this – on a soundstage, nothing more than stools and movie posters everywhere, the interviewer some nobody from a talk show or a movie theatre – but Cas assured him it was simple. Seven interviewers, three questions each, all of them commenting on the same clip from the movie.

            Chuck stopped beside a black door and knocked on it twice. A woman in a headset opened it, said, “Oh, thank god, you’re here,” and ushered them inside quickly. She pointed to the chairs they’d sit in and Dean looked up at the poster for _Dreaded Darkness_. The picture on this one was Cas and Balthazar’s backs, their hands intertwined between them as they looked up at the haunted house. It was coloured blue and grey, with a big black crack running through the title and their hands.

            Someone started to fiddle with Dean’s hair from behind and he flinched. Cas squeezed his hand. A brush swept down Dean’s face before he had a chance to close his eyes, but this time he kept still. He hoped whatever they used would stick to the sweat on his skin and that his hair wasn’t too destroyed from Cas trying to pull it out in the back of the car.

            He glanced over at Cas and saw him smile. He had to smile back despite his heart beating out of his chest and the people touching him and the interviews they were about to blast through at the speed of light. Not even ten minutes ago, he’d had his hands on Cas, his lips on his dick, and fingers curling into his hair. He missed it already.

            “We’re gonna show you the clip now so you know what everyone’s talking about.” The woman in the headset stepped back and twirled her finger in the air. A small TV in the corner turned on and, within seconds, Dean knew exactly what the clip was. Cas let out a laughing exhale beside him.

            “You want us to talk about the sex scene?” Cas said.

            “It’s the only scene your better half is in.” The woman flipped the lights back on and two men rushed forward to clip microphones to Dean and Cas’ collars. “Your first interviewer is with Marcia from ETalk.”

            Marcia smiled as she walked in and shook both their hands before taking the seat across from them. She started with a little spiel about the movie and who they were before opening with, “What was it like to work together?”

            Cas laughed.

            Dean said, “It was a little awkward having someone direct us to kiss.”

            “Especially when that someone basically raised Dean,” Cas added.

            Marcia laughed with them and moved along to more movie-related questions. Then she was gone. A man took her place, introduced himself, and got right into it. He was gone seconds later. Three more reporters came in and out without a hitch, each of them asking their puffy questions and then leaving graciously. One of them asked a bonus questions, which made the woman with the headset scowl, but it was just, “Is it true you’ll soon be gracing the cover of _OUT_ magazine?” Cas declined to answer with a wink.

            The sixth interviewer took her place across from them with a cold smile and Dean glanced towards Cas, who had suddenly tensed. Dean tapped his fingers against Cas’ thigh but got no response.

            “Castiel,” said the woman.

            “Naomi,” Cas said, barely managing to veil his distaste for her. His jaw twitched. “Who let you into the lineup?”

            “Someone who doesn’t know me very well.”

            Dean glanced between the two of them, unsure whether or not he should step in. He looked for Chuck, but he was nowhere to be seen and probably wouldn’t know what was going on either. For the first time since the tour started nearly a month ago, Dean wished Charlie had come along.

            “Are we rolling?” said the headset woman.

            “No,” Cas said. “Get her out of here.” His eyes didn’t move from Naomi’s when he spoke.

            “Just let me ask one little question,” she said, “off the record.”

            “Everything’s on the record with you.”

            “How are you doing with the cheating rumours?” She leaned forward as her voice lowered to a whisper. “How are you handling the scandal the second time around, your life twisting back to the same story, time and time again?”

            Cas grit his teeth.

            “I’ll give you a comment,” Dean snapped. “I’m not cheating. I love Cas and I wouldn’t hurt him. Ever.”

            “Get her out of here,” Cas said to the nearest crew member.

            Part of Cas’ security team approached Naomi, but she raised her hands in surrender and got to her feet. As she left, she winked at Cas and wished him luck _this time around_. Cas glared at her until she left the room and then continued to bore holes in the door after her.

            “Hey.” Dean touched Cas’ thigh but he flinched away. He watched the side of Cas’ jaw twitch, then relax as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Dean gave him a few more silent seconds before lowering his voice and asking, “Are you okay?”

            “Fine.”

            “What was that?”

            “Naomi...” Cas shook his head. “It’s a long story. Let’s just say she ruined my life.”

            “But your life’s not all that ruined now.”

            “I don’t like that she’s back.”

            Dean let it drop as the last interviewer approached them. Cas did a valiant job of putting his smile back in place and laughing at questions about the awkwardness of sex scenes. Dean did his best to take the lead, to give Cas a chance to breathe, but Cas bounced back with surprising alacrity. The interviewer left after his three questions and the woman in the headset let out a long, heavy breath before rushing them out of the room.

            Dean followed Cas at a distance for a few steps, wondering if he wanted him or wanted to be left alone. But then he saw where Cas was going. Cas grabbed Chuck by the lapels before Dean could reach him and he slammed Chuck back into the wall.

            “What the fuck was that?” Cas said. “How did she get passed security? How did she get approved as an interviewer?”

            “She used a fake name. I don’t—”

            “What name?”

            “Hannah—”

            “Barnes? The fake name she uses all the fucking time?”

            “WHOA!” Dean pulled Cas back by the shoulder and placed himself firmly between the two of them. “You two either need to calm the fuck down or tell me what the hell just happened in there that warrants _this_.”

            “Charlie would have caught it,” Cas said.

            “Charlie’s not fucking here.” Chuck shrugged his jacket back into place and straightened his collar. “Probably so she doesn’t get manhandled by your psycho ass.”

            “You had one fucking job!”

            Dean let out a string of curses as people started to turn towards their shouting match. Instead of trying to stop it again, he grabbed both of them by the shoulders and started to push them towards the exit. Quickly, the security team surrounded them, sheltering their shouting match from the outside world. They were only minorly delayed at the door before the team split off, leading Cas to one car and Dean and Chuck to another.

            Dean slid into the car still looking over his shoulder for Cas. He didn’t want to leave him but Cas was needed at a full cast interview downtown and Dean had a concert to set up. He chewed on his bottom lip for a second before looking across the car at Donna and saying, “Can you—”

            “Benny says they’re fine,” she said. “Cas is pissing mad and on the phone with Charlie, but everything’s all right.”

            Dean glanced at Chuck. “Can you tell me what the fuck just happened?”

            Chuck rubbed the bridge of his nose, for once not looking at his phone. “I fucked up, all right?” He sighed. “Naomi was the first interviewer to expose Kelly’s cheating. And, after the breakup, she was the first reporter to paint Cas as less than a saint. Rumour has it she did the whole thing undercover, got close to him, manipulated him into saying some pretty nasty crap about Kelly, and then published it all.”

            “I thought you gave me all the articles on their breakup.”

            Chuck stared at him for a moment. “You don’t wanna see this one.”

            Dean considered that for a moment. He had seen Cas in some pretty bad moods, had dealt with his fair share of unfair accusations from him, but his overall impression had always been that Cas was a good person. Someone who apologized for his mistakes. Someone who would never speak ill of him behind his back.

            “You have more pressing issues,” Chuck said, “like what the fuck Naomi is doing here now.”

            “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            “She’s not a tabloid reporter, Dean. She does real, investigative pieces. If she’s fishing around, she has something. Or she’s close to having something. And I would bet a good deal of money that anything she has is on you and not All-American Boy.”

            Dean stared at Chuck for a long moment. “Take care of it.”

            Chuck nodded and finally pulled out his phone.

            Dean relaxed. Chuck may have been far from the perfect manager, far from available to him 24/7, but Dean trusted him when it came to the important stuff. He had kept the whole Lisa story under wraps, after all. He had even managed to market Dean’s bisexuality as a plus when he first came back to the business. Everything Chuck touched turned to gold.

            By the time they reached the venue, Dean had put most of the interview drama out of his mind. He shot a quick text to Cas asking if everything was all right but got no reply. He put his phone away for sound check and then sat through hair and makeup without even blinking.

            As he stepped out onto the roof, the lights of skyscrapers bursting around him and the stars nearly blotted out of the sky, he heard Chuck on the phone.

            “And you’re sure we’ve got all the proper permits? And you can still guarantee a police presence? And that helicopter?” Chuck sighed with audible relief. “Good, great, thanks. We’re on a schedule here.”

            Dean approached him as he adjusted the cuffs on his jacket. April had warmed in California but, once the sun went down, the chill came out. “We sure this is a good idea?” Dean said.

            Chuck smiled. “Best idea you’ve ever had.”

            Dean held the praise close as he climbed onto the makeshift stage at the edge of the roof. Without the floodlights on, his eyes had to adjust to the dark. He made his way to the little green mark on the black stage and tested the stability with the heel of his boot – minimal shaking, better than he’d expected from a fly-by-day construction crew.

            “Ready?” a stage assistant whispered to him.

            Dean nodded.

            The stage lit up, floodlights lighting up the night sky. Dean held the microphone tight in his hand for a second, took a deep breath, then shouted, “What’s up, San Diego?”

            He felt the lack of thunderous applause like a shot to his chest. For a moment, he was back in Kansas playing to near-empty bars with Sam and Jo at his side. But he forced himself to breathe. The crowd would come, the noise would follow, and the police sirens would take him away. Three songs and he was gone, whisked away in a cruiser with the cameras flashing.

            The music started up around him and Dean felt it thrum through his feet. The stage shook under him and he glanced down at the hundreds of feet between him and the ground. He expected his stomach to drop but, instead, he felt adrenaline rush through his veins. Maybe at the next one he’d ask Chuck to get him a bungee cord or a zip line or a parachute and he’d jump right off the edge. For now though, he stepped back and started to sing.

            _“I don’t give a damn about my reputation_.” Feedback clanged through the microphone and someone behind Dean swore. He laughed and went on, _“You’re living in the past, it’s a new generation.”_

By the time he got to the chorus, a small crowd had gathered at the base of the building. Police sirens screamed closer. Echoed screams made their way up to Dean, muffled but excited.

            _“And I don’t give a damn ‘bout my bad reputation!”_

Dean felt the world at his feet as the song came to a close. The band moved seamlessly onto the next song, an old one from his first album, and then onto his new single. About halfway through the third verse, Dean saw the commotion out of the corner of his eye – cops trying to get passed his stage manager. He almost laughed and flubbed the lyric, but caught himself at the last minute.

            When the song ended to a chorus of screams, Dean said, “I love you, San Diego! Wish I could stay longer but I gotta go talk to a man in uniform!” He waved to the people down below, passed his microphone off to a tech, and then made his way down onto the roof.

            The officer huffed. “I wasn’t told it would take this long.”

            “You got a big diamond heist to go to?” Dean offered his bared wrists.

            Without a word, the officer cuffed him and then dragged him to the door. When they left the building, cameras flashed from every angle as security held the paparazzi back. Dean got pushed into the back of the police car and driven a few blocks down before the officer unlocked the cuffs and let him out.

            Dean waited on the curb for a few silent minutes before a nondescript van rounded the corner. Donna pushed open the passenger door and he hopped in. He pulled the earplugs out of his ears as she started down the road.

            “Dunno why you did that,” she said. “You got all your permits in order.”

            “So the city doesn’t fine the label.” Dean scraped earwax out of his ear with a fingernail. “And it’s kind of anti-climactic if a three-song concert doesn’t end in handcuffs.”

            “How many times do you think you can pull that disappearing act before the public gets smart to it?”

            Dean smiled at her. “You’re no fun, Donna.”

            “I’m buckets of fun.” But the corner of her mouth curled up. “You did good, kid.”

            “I’m older than you.”

            She smiled bigger. “Only in years.”

            Dean leaned back into the seat and turned up the radio. The announcer had stopped mid-song to talk about the rogue concert, excitement evident in his voice. Dean pulled out his phone and started searching through Twitter for the best live streams and ten seconds videos. All of them were blurry and from a distance, except for the one from the news helicopter. He smiled as he bookmarked a few of them to retweet later, when he’d realistically be out of police custody.

            Donna pulled the van around the back of the hotel and checked the street before letting Dean out. He followed her into the staff elevator, then left her at the door of his room. He stepped in mid-argument and almost stepped right back out.

            “It is your _job_ to brief Chuck on these things. Not even that. It’s your job to fucking be here so this sort of thing doesn’t happen!”

            “I had an emergency with another client. I’m sorry I didn’t think fucking Naomi would show up when, as far as I can tell, whatever scandal this relationship might have caused ended when you started fucking him!”

            Cas sighed and looked away from Charlie to see Dean backing out of the door. “Come in,” he said, voice suddenly soft.

            Dean paused and looked at Charlie.

            “I was just leaving,” she said and shoved past him into the hallway.

            Dean stepped away from the door and let it close. Tense silence flooded into the room, making the air buzz. He looked up at Cas to see him rubbing his temples, eyes closed. “She got here fast,” Dean said.

            “She was already on her way, apparently.”

            Dean took another step into the room, unsure what to say. He wanted to ask if Cas was okay again but he knew that would get him nowhere. The back of his mind swirled with thoughts of the article Chuck had mentioned, the supposedly awful things Cas had said about Kelly, and the scandal that had set this all off, ruined Cas’ career and sent him to Dean for damage control.

            “Your concert was great,” Cas said, forcing a smile. “I caught most of it on the news.”

            Dean smiled back, trying hard not to let his happiness overwhelm him in the face of such a weird situation. “Is everything all right with Charlie?”

            “I don’t want to talk about that.” Cas closed the space between them with three quick strides and kissed Dean hard.

            Dean stumbled back and hit the wall. As Cas pressed up against him, his tongue slipping into Dean’s mouth, Dean felt all the warmth and buzz and adrenaline from the concert rush back into him. He kissed back with all he had, sinking into the high feeling Cas gave him, the pure love that flooded his system every time his boyfriend was near.


	66. Chapter 66

Shooting on location at the beach in April had been far from the magazine’s best idea in Cas’ opinion. Although the day was warm, the wind coming off the water was harsh and the waves were cold against his bare feet. Set assistants kept handing him hot tea and blankets every time the photographer needed to readjust the camera or wanted to change up the background.

            Now, before Dean arrived fresh off his latest rogue concert, Cas was doing test shots to get the lighting right. Apparently test shots did not equal letting him wear a sweater, socks, and just about anything else warm. The assistants kept offering him apologies he didn’t want. It wasn’t like it was their fault that the magazine had decided on a beach spread.

            As the photographer adjusted his cameras again, Cas’ phone buzzed on a table. He glanced towards the set director for permission and, when the man nodded, he picked up the phone. “Hey, Kelly,” he said. “Is everything all right?”

            “Everything’s great,” she said, sounding somewhat breathless. “I just wanted to ask if you’d do me a favour.”

            Cas let those words sit between them for a few minutes. Just last year, they had been in a place where “do me a favour” would have meant “please stop calling.” He brushed away the persistent tug at his heartstrings and said, “Name it.”

            “Can you take the kids on tour during spring break?”

            “When is that?”

            “Two weeks.”

            Cas did a mental run-through of his schedule. He knew that in two weeks, they’d be a week out from the movie premiere and stuck at a go, go, go pace that would wipe out even the most seasoned of actors. “I’d love to see them,” he said, “but I’ll be jumping planes constantly, running from set to set... I just don’t know how much time I’ll have to spend with them. Or if it’ll even be fun for them.”

            “They want to see you,” she said, “and it would really help me out. My new line’s supposed to be released in May and it’s just not there yet.”

            Cas bit the inside of his cheek. “Okay, yeah. Have... have someone call Charlie and she’ll figure it out.”

            “Thank you so much.”

            “No problem.”

            They chatted for a few more minutes before the photographer waved Cas back over and he had to say goodbye. He shed his blanket to stand with his feet in the chilly water and just barely managed a shaky smile for the camera. He saw his toes go purple.

            A small commotion started up a few feet away and the photographer paused. Cas took a step forward to see Dean’s security team heading down the beach. They parted dramatically just before the start of the white tents and Dean stepped forward, dressed half in beach wear with a linen shirt and cargo shorts, and half for the weather with a leather jacket and heavy-looking leather boots.

            He shed the boots and the jacket when a set assistant approached him and pulled off wool socks to slip his feet into the offered sandals. Then, he dashed up to Cas and kissed him on the lips. Cas pulled him close, even though he’d just offered a peck, relishing the warmth of his lips and his body.

            “Someone’s happy to see me,” Dean whispered.

            Cas looked up at him. “Don’t be so smug. You’re warm and I’m freezing.”

            “So if I was a giant heated blanket that would be just as good?”

            “Better, actually.”

            Dean looped his arms around Cas’ hips and pulled him closer. He kissed the top of his head. “Sorry I’m late. We had a problem with the LAPD.”

            “That problem being?”

            “Cops other than the ones we briefed on the situation showed up.”

            “You actually got arrested?”

            Dean shrugged as the set director told them they had to start before they lost the light. Cas wanted to argue that decision – it was nearly noon, the light wasn’t going anywhere – and he had more questions about Dean’s arrest. Not that Dean seemed all that concerned.

            “Jody got me out of it,” he said simply. “Well, once she stopped flirting with Donna.”

            Cas shook his head. “You’ve got good friends.”

            “People you pay aren’t friends.”

            Cas looked at Dean just then, tried to gauge what he meant by that. But he didn’t seem sad about it, just practical. The further they got into the tour, the more Cas questioned Dean’s insistence that he had no friends. From his security team to the cops who helped him to all the people who worked around the clock to make his dreams come true, they all seemed like they would die for him. And whether Dean paid them or not, Cas had a feeling they didn’t have to do half the things he asked of them. They did it because they liked him.

            The photographer approached and told them where to stand in front of a crop of rocks springing from the water. Dean cursed as the cold water lapped at his feet and Cas laughed, which earned him an elbow in the side. He leaned in to kiss Dean and the photographer exclaimed, “No! No! Save it for the film! For the film!”

            Cas laughed harder as Dean wrapped an arm around him and pulled him tight. The photographer grabbed his camera off the tripod and crept closer to them. “Do it again! Natural! Loving! You love the beach!”

            “And the cold,” Dean whispered.

            Cas kissed him, listening to the cameras flash. Then he pulled away and smiled at the photographer. With Dean by his side, they took direction easily before the photographer told them to get down in the sand and start to play around. Feet freezing and fingers trembling, Cas started to make a sand castle and Dean joined him. When they’d almost finished, Dean knocked it over.

            “Hey!” Cas shouted.

            “Sorry.” Dean kissed him on the forehead and then took off running down the beach.

            Cas scrambled after him, tripping in the sand, and then ran at full speed. He caught Dean by the back of the shirt and pulled him – too hard. They went down in the sand at the edge of the water, laughing, and Dean kissed up his neck until he reached his lips. Cas shoved him off into the water and then tried to scramble away before Dean could pull him in too. But Dean was faster, stronger, and he managed to push Cas under the water for a few seconds before he came back up, sputtering for breath.

            “You suck,” Cas said as he reached for Dean.

            Dean smiled. “You love me.”

            Cas cradled his face and kissed him even as his entire lower body turned to ice.

            “Perfect. Fantastic. You’re wonderful. Lovely.”

            Cas looked up at the photographer, surprised to realize he’d followed him down the beach. His hands slipped from Dean’s face as he felt self-consciousness seep back in with every camera flash. After a few moments, they were both pulled from the water and huddled into blankets. Cas was offered hot chocolate first, then a towel and a change of clothes. He snuck into one of the tents to change and was just doing up the last button on his jacket when Charlie slipped inside.

            He stared at her for a moment, at a loss for words. He’d forgotten she’d come along. “Did the pictures turn out?” he asked, unsure of what else to say.

            She nodded. “I got Jack and Claire’s flights all set up. It’ll be a busy week for them, but I’m sure we can keep them entertained and out of the press, especially with security around. I’ll talk to Benny about it as soon as I get the chance.”

            Cas met her eyes and silence fell. He wanted to be able to talk to her; he wanted to tell her everything, but she had built a wall between them. Or maybe he had helped, at least a little bit, by stacking more bricks on top of it.

            Suddenly, she sighed and her whole facade crumbled. “You know I just want you to be happy, right?”

            “I am happy.”

            “I can see that.” She stepped forward and reached out a hand. He grabbed it before she could rethink the gesture and pulled her into a hug. “If this is what you want, then I’m happy for you. I can live with it if you can.”

            Cas nodded against her shoulder. “There’s just... one thing.” He swallowed hard and stepped back from her. She looked up at him with a serious expression and he bit down on the urge to clam up, to not let her in. “My kids love Dean but... but I haven’t been able to get much of a commitment from him on what this means or where it’s going and...”

            “You don’t want to hurt them,” Charlie finished. She pulled out her phone. “I can keep Dean away from them. No problem.”

            “Keep Dean away from who?”

            Cas whirled at the sound of Dean’s voice, guilt settling in his stomach. Dean had pushed the tent flap back and had a curious look on his face. No anger. No hurt. Cas looked back over his shoulder but Charlie had disappeared, gone as fast as she had come.

            As Dean approached, he repeated, “Who’s avoiding me?”

            Cas met his eyes and steeled himself for the many, many ways this conversation could go. “My kids,” he said, forcing the words to come out steady when just the two syllables made him want to stop his heart from beating.

            Dean blinked. “Why?”

            “You said yourself that we’re just seeing how this is going.” Cas swallowed hard. He wanted to sound sure of his decision. He was sure of his decision. But he had so many happy memories where the four of them seemed like a family, where Dean had seamlessly fit with them, where nothing had seemed out of place. He looked at his feet. “And I don’t want to drag the kids through this, to let them get close to you, if this isn’t... going anywhere.”

            The wind whipped up against the tent walls, the fabric billowing inwards and causing Cas to shiver. Outside, the crew gathered up their equipment and people shouted instructions to each other. Cas looked up at Dean through his eyelashes, trying to gauge his reaction, but his expression was blank, painless.

            “You know Claire texts me like five times a day, right?” Dean’s Adam’s apple bobbed. His eyes met Cas’, wide and impassive, but a little wet. “And Jack calls me half a dozen times a week, just to check in and make sure I’m okay.”

            “I wish you wouldn’t talk to them without telling me.”

            Dean stepped back like he’d been slapped. Maybe Cas had slapped him. Maybe he’d done something worse. “Maybe you should tell them that,” Dean snapped. “Look, I don’t... if you’re trying to stop them from getting attached, you’ve already fucking failed.”

            “Dean—”

            “No. Don’t...” Dean closed his eyes for a moment. “Whatever. They’re your kids. Do what you want.” Then he turned on his heel and walked out of the tent.

            Cas stared at the spot he’d been two seconds ago. He felt his heart stop pumping blood and the world stop spinning. His mind whirred, trying to figure out how minutes ago they’d been happily making out in the freezing cold ocean and now he may have lost Dean. Part of him wanted to run after him, to force his body to move in frozen time, and tell Dean he’d made a mistake. Of course he was allowed to talk to the kids. Of course he was part of the family. Of course he meant everything to him.

            But his feet wouldn’t move. Cas had a sinking feeling he’d done the right thing. As terrible as he felt, as much as his whole body ached with guilt, he had protected his kids. They might be too invested already but Cas could stop them from diving any deeper. He could prevent them from forming an unhealthy attachment to someone who might never be a true part of their lives. And that was more important than Dean’s feelings or his own.

            Still, Cas could barely breathe. He sank down into the sand and tried to get his breathing back, gulping in air in big lungfuls, sobs leaving his throat without any tears leaving his eyes. An arm wrapped around his shoulders and he felt Charlie’s hair brush against his cheek. The tears finally came as she shifted to hold him in her arms and he felt the cold work its way back into his bones as they knelt in the sand, the wind whipping around them.


	67. Chapter 67

Time rolled by like someone had fast-forwarded all the clocks. Dean felt like he had fewer hours in his days now. Between movie interviews and album promotion, between the rogue concerts and publicist-approved dates, between sleep and meals and bathroom breaks, Dean barely had time to breathe. His day was scheduled down to the letter, including a pencilled in time Chuck had added for sex and other exploits.

            Not that he and Cas were having sex. Not that they were even speaking to each other when the cameras were off. Dean wanted to talk to him. No, he wanted to scream at him. He wanted to throw the kind of temper tantrum that had made him a walking tabloid gold mine and throw shit and trash a hotel room and make an interviewer genuinely afraid of him. But Cas’ reserved quiet bolstered no argument. It was like he had put up an indestructible wall and even if Dean set off a bomb, it would remain.

            So Dean played the silent game. He laughed in interviews, held Cas’ hand on the dates Sam sent them on, and plastered on a smile like bad face paint. But as soon as the cameras disappeared, their relationship did too. Dean had Chuck book him a separate room at every tour stop. He had Donna reconfigure their travel plans so that he and Cas didn’t have to sit together on plane rides. When Benny asked him if everything was all right, Dean had asked him if he could prevent photos of them from leaking to the tabloids completely. It was an insane request but Benny had barely blinked.

            Dean wanted to be able to honestly say that Cas was being irrational, that he was the one in the wrong, but the more he thought about it, the more he knew it made sense. And that only made it hurt more. He loved Claire and Jack. He wanted to be in their lives. But the last time he’d committed to someone, he’d had to stand in a cold hospital basement and identify her child’s body. And some sick, irrational part of his mind thought that if he held Cas’ hand and called his kids his own, history would repeat itself.

            “I’m so scared,” Dean told Benny. He sat on a hotel bed in Kansas City. The night had almost whittled itself away but Dean had yet to sleep a wink.

            Benny sat in the desk chair, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “You should tell him that.”

            Dean shook his head. “He’s right. He’s done the right thing. But I can’t tell him that and also tell him it hurts like he fucking shot me and somehow communicate that I would marry him in a heartbeat but I can’t offer him anything permanent or concrete without thinking someone’s gonna die.”

            “No one’s gonna die.”

            “I fucking know.”

            Benny sighed and got up to sit beside Dean on the bed. He knocked his shoulder into Dean’s. “You’re a moron, so I’m going to tell you something that should be really obvious to you. Talk to your boyfriend.”

            Dean opened his mouth to argue, to tell Benny once again that things weren’t so simple, but then the adjoining door between his room and Cas’ opened. Cas stood there, whatever was on his face before wiped away by simple disbelief as his eyes landed on Dean and Benny.

            “I’m sorry, I’ll...” Cas trailed off and shut the door.

            Dean couldn’t have moved if he’d wanted to.

            “I can get him,” Benny said.

            “No, I—”

            “Yes.” Benny got up and opened the door again. He left it open as he spoke to Cas, pieces of their whispered conversation making its way back to Dean until Benny reappeared with Cas at his side. He pushed him through the door and then shut them in.

            Cas stood awkwardly at the side of the room.

            Dean looked at him, heart in his throat, and couldn’t make a sound.

            “Benny said you’re scared,” Cas started. He gritted his teeth then stepped further into the room with his arms crossed. “And angry. And I get that, I do, but—”

            “You’ve got to protect your kids.” Dean swallowed hard. It had been over a week and Claire hadn’t texted, Jack hadn’t called, and Dean felt like more than one piece of his soul was missing. He forced the words out, even though they threatened to dislodge the tears in his eyes. “I get it.”

            “I don’t want to do this,” Cas said. His voice broke over the words and he sniffled before looking away. “But if you can’t... if you won’t tell me anything, then I... I can’t let them get hurt.”

            Dean bit down on his tongue as he nodded. He didn’t want to cry. He wouldn’t cry.

            “You get that, don’t you?”

            “Of course.”

            Cas shuffled closer and took the spot on the bed that Benny had vacated. Cautiously, like he was afraid Dean would pull away, he threaded their fingers together. Dean squeezed his hand.

            “You’re doing the hometown concert tomorrow?” Cas said. “Or, today, I guess?”

            Dean nodded.

            “And I’ll be in L.A. by noon.” He swallowed hard.

            Dean stared at their knees, one inch apart, and the grey bedspread between their thighs. He wanted to look up, to see Cas’ expression, to guess the words that were about to come. He could fix the whole thing right here, tell Cas he loved him, that he wanted to be with him, that he would commit to him, but the words lodged in his throat. Images of Claire and Jack hurt flashed behind his eyes. Dean chewed right through his lip and tasted blood.

            “Can we pretend everything’s all right until we’re together again?” Cas said.

            “I don’t want to pretend.”

            Cas looked up at him, scared.

            Dean met his eyes with a small smile and then reached to wipe a tear off Cas’ cheek. “I want it to be all right,” he whispered. He dipped his head forward, brushing their noses together. “Tell me everything’s all right.”

            “Everything’s all right,” Cas whispered, like he was reading a script written on the palm of his hand.

            Dean kissed him, barely a brush of their lips, before pulling him into a hug. He felt like he held him for a long time, like hours or maybe days had passed, but then Cas pulled away and Dean heard the seconds that had ticked by, all five of them. They said their awkward goodnights and Cas disappeared back through the door.

            Benny reappeared and leaned up against the frame for a second. “You good?”

            Dean forced a smile. “Peachy keen.”

 

The last thing Dean wanted to do was play a concert on less than an hour of sleep. But he forced himself to get up, to get moving, to get dressed. He had breakfast alone and drank more coffee than was necessary for normal human functioning. As the car approached the fair grounds, Dean felt a pang of nostalgia for the shitty outdoor arenas he used to play.

            This arena was gated and ringed by security. The stage was as good as a stadium one, with full light rigging and room for a full band. Dean walked onto it with heavy steps, his thoughts ping-ponging from Cas to the concert to the kids to his set list. He read over the songs taped to the teleprompter and tried to convince himself that of course he knew the lyrics to all his own songs.

            The hometown concert was supposed to be a sneak peek of the album. Five of his new songs graced the set list, mixed in with old favourites and some songs from other artists. Dean stared down the love song he’d been using Cas’ name in since they’d first started fake dating. He wanted to ask to strike it from the set, but he knew if he did the rumours would only swirl faster – separated on the tour, no love song, the cheating scandal. Dean couldn’t keep it straight anymore.

            He woodenly went through sound check and happily accepted the coffee Chuck handed him at the end of it. He expected a lecture too – something about looking alive out there – but Chuck simply patted him on the back. Apparently he looked as miserable as he felt.

            As he waited backstage for the crowd to filter in, he caught a familiar glint of sequins. He pushed his dressing room door open another inch and saw Hailey standing a few feet away, fluffing out her hair in a mirror. He called to her.

            She turned and smiled when she caught his eye. As she entered his dressing room, she said, “Thought you were done with me.”

            He smiled back. “No one told me you’d be opening today.”

            “No one told _me_ until a few hours ago.” Her skirt swished as she took a seat next to him on the threadbare couch. She ran her fingers over the guitar between them. “Writing something new?”

            Dean shook his head. “Just making sure I remember all the new chords.”

            “Cas’ career has really shot off since you two started dating.” The words sounded casual enough but the edge in her voice unnerved Dean, made him shift a little further from her. She plucked a string and a note rang through the small room. “First he’s in _Dreaded Darkness,_ which is poised to become the biggest horror movie of the summer, and now _Tattletale Tricks_. I bet you couldn’t be happier for him.”

            “Stole the words right out of my mouth.” He tried to keep his smile on but facing her, watching her blank expression as she stared at the wall, his stomach curled. “Is everything okay, Hailey? Between us?”

            She looked at him and blinked. “Of course.”

            “You sure?”

            She got up and straightened her skirt, even though the sequins fell easily back into place. “Yes. Sure.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, her hand brushing across his chin as she pulled back and exited the room.

            Dean stared after her for a moment and the pulled the guitar back into his lap, trying to shake off his unease. Too soon, Chuck appeared to tell him to get the fuck on stage, and Dean got up to follow after him. As a woman ran a makeup brush over his face, Dean saw Hailey disappearing off the side of the stage, a phone pressed hard against her ear, her lips moving fast.

            He glanced at Chuck, who nodded and headed after her, and then waited for the stage manager’s cue to step onstage. The crowd roared at his arrival, their screams and cheers and applause overwhelming him. After so many concerts on rooftops, Dean had forgotten how close the fans got to the stage, how many hands could reach for him, how loud they could be through the earplugs.

            He swallowed his rising panic and tried to channel his flight response into a fight one. He forced a smile and looked out at the massive audience. “Hello, Kansas!” They screamed. Dean felt his heart start to beat again. He felt himself firmly attach to his own body.

            “We’re gonna start out tonight with a new one here,” he said, “off my upcoming album, _Angel On My Shoulder._ This is the title track. Hope you like it.”

            He waited for the opening bars of the song. Then he sang, “ _There’s an angel on my shoulder, saying things I don’t want to hear. There’s an angel on my shoulder, saying the devil’s in my ear. Five days ago, I would have brushed that angel off. Heaven’s a no go and hell’s just so far off.”_

            The crowd roared in response. By the end of the song, they were shouting, “Hell’s just so far off!” along with him, along with every beat of the music. Dean felt himself relax into the routine, his worries washing away in the rush of the concert.

            As he stepped offstage halfway through his set to guzzle water, he caught sight of Chuck. “Did you figure out what’s up with Hailey?”

            Chuck shrugged. “She disappeared before I got to her. Her manager said she’s dealing with some sort of family emergency.”

            Dean cursed. “Send her flowers, all right?” Then he stepped back onstage.

            By the time evening rolled around, Dean was sweaty and tired and feeling every heart beat against his ribcage. He sank back into the leather seat of the car, only half listening to Chuck tell him the schedule for the rest of the night. Halfway through it, he interrupted and said, “Do we have time for a pit stop?”

            “Depends on the kind,” Chuck said, immediately wary.

            Dean laughed at the fear in his manager’s eyes. “Nothing scandalous, I promise.” He licked his lips as he watched the storefronts between the cars rushing by. With a glance at the clock, he added, “What’s our ETA on getting to L.A?”

            “We didn’t plan to be there until late tomorrow.”

            “Can you change that?”

            Chuck glanced at Donna, who shrugged.

            “Stop the car,” Dean said. Then, when nothing happened, he repeated himself more forcefully.

            The car screeched to a stop at the side of the road and Dean jumped out without waiting for Donna to go first. Not that it mattered. The paparazzi didn’t care much for Kansas and hadn’t followed them far from the concert venue. Three car switches and a body double would trip up even the most seasoned photographers.

            Dean walked across the street and into a store. The chime over the door made him feel like a normal person and nerves almost stole away his sudden bout of inspiration. Then Donna stepped in beside him, a curious look in her eye and a question poised on her lips.

            He swallowed his hesitation. “I’m going to do it,” he said.

            Donna smiled. “Congratulations.”


	68. Chapter 68

Cas woke up at the crack of dawn to pick his kids up from the airport. Their flight landed just after seven a.m. and, given that Cas’ first task of the day was at eight-thirty, he had to be dressed and ready to go the second the bags came off the carousel. He put on the outfit Charlie had picked out for him the night before, ate breakfast while Benny ran through the day’s schedule with him, and brushed his teeth while keeping one eye on the time. As soon as Claire texted him that they’d landed, Cas was out the door.

            He had gotten used to the security. The best thing about them was being shielded by five giant men as the paparazzi pressed around him on his own front lawn. The pictures they got were unusable at best and not even of him at their worst. Cas slipped into the back of the car along with Benny and Meg, someone hit the back of the car, and the driver tore off towards the airport.

            “Airport should be quiet,” Benny said, “but we’re bringing the second team just in case.”

            Cas nodded as the car behind them peeled off as well. It turned off before them as a precaution and Cas looked at Meg, who had yet to look up from her phone when she spoke to him. Cas wondered what she was always doing on the thing, how she had to move her fingers so fast at every moment, and how she managed to do her job with her eyes glued to the screen.

            As if she could hear his thoughts, she said, “Candy Crush.”

            Cas looked away.

            They entered the arrivals level and Cas wandered towards the thin crowd of sleepy people waiting for their loved ones. Benny shadowed him even though no one glanced their way and not even one whisper of his name graced the quiet of the baggage claim. Meg reappeared with two coffee carriers – one filled with the sugary drinks he and his kids loved and the other with three black coffees.

            Cas almost questioned the order but then the sliding doors opened before him. People he didn’t know flooded out, carrying bags and travel pillows, looking sleepy and world-weary in their sweatpants and tank tops. He went up on his toes to look over heads but saw no sign of his kids. His heart started to beat faster but he swallowed the fear – this could be a different plane, they could have sat at the back, maybe they stopped for breakfast before leaving the terminal.

            Then they walked through the door, so deep in conversation they didn’t even look up. Cas smiled to himself as they neared. Claire stopped mid-sentence to greet him. “Hi, dad.” Jack dropped his bags and hugged him.

            Laughing, Cas wrapped an arm around Jack and pulled Claire in too. “I thought you missed me,” he said. “You didn’t even look up.”

            Claire pulled away and gestured at Benny. “Big ‘n’ Tall here gives you away.”

            “I’m taller than him,” Cas said.

            “Not by much,” Meg muttered.

            Claire exhaled a laugh.

            “Where’s Dean?” Jack said.

            “Dean got held up in Kansas.”

            “Who got held up in Kansas?”

            Cas looked up at the sound of Dean’s voice and felt his heart tumble out of his chest onto the stained airport linoleum. His kids turned away from him to hug Dean, Claire going willingly this time, and Dean dropped his bags to wrap his arms around them. Standing behind him were three security guards and Donna, who had a big smile on her face.

            Cas caught Dean’s eye as he pulled back from the kids, trying to convey everything he was thinking. _I thought we agreed_. _Why are you here_? _Please don’t hurt my kids._ But if any of that came through, Cas couldn’t tell by the way Dean walked towards him. He kissed him softly, lips lingering, and pulled back to look in his eyes.

            “What are—” Cas started.

            “Trust me?”

            Cas stared at him, his jaw set. For once, he didn’t want to fall victim to Dean’s pretty eyes and ensnaring smile. His kids had just gotten in for the week and Dean had said he understood. No commitment equaled no kids. Cas didn’t think it was too hard of a concept to grasp.

            “I’m yours,” Dean whispered, the words so earnest on his lips that Cas had to blink to make sure they were real. Dean kissed him again. “Please. Trust me just a little longer.”

            Cas nodded.

            “We got photographers,” Benny said, stepping forward.

            Cas closed his eyes, trying not to sigh.

            “Let them get a few shots,” Dean said. He pulled Cas a step forward as he stepped back towards the kids. “Then let’s go out the back to the car Meg has waiting.”

            “Why would I have a car waiting for _you_?” Meg said.

            “Because your love for Cas overwhelms your hatred for me.”

            She flipped him off.

            Cas laughed as Dean wrapped an arm around his waist and they rejoined the kids. They had taken the coffees from Meg and now handed Cas and Dean theirs. They chatted as they walked, cameras snapping pictures as they made their way towards the baggage claim. Luckily, the bags were already coming out and Benny grabbed both the kids’ bags before ushering them onwards. A few of the security guards stayed back to stop the paparazzi from following while the rest ushered them forward. Claire gave the men in black cautious looks while Jack rattled on about how the paparazzi were just trying to make a living like everyone else.

            As they slipped into the car idling by an airport loading dock, Cas leaned close to Dean and said, “So you’re the reason the second security team came along?”

            Dean smiled at him. “What does Dean Winchester have on the great Mason Haverford?”

 

The photo shoot went on for over an hour, making Cas twenty minutes late to his next interview. He entered the set with gracious apologies, trying not to come off as a diva while also introducing his kids and apologizing more for Dean and the security entourage. He caught sight of the rest of the cast out of the corner of his eye, already set up with their microphones and makeup. He threw an apology their way as well but, hopefully, they knew the hell he was going through. All of them had been bombarded by media and fans since the announcements too.

            Cas was rushed through makeup while the PA set up his mic. Jack sat in the chair next to him, spinning it around. He asked, “Is it usually like this? Being famous?”

            Cas laughed. “I’ll tell you after I’ve been considered ‘famous’ for more than a few months.”

            “Do you want this?”

            Cas glanced at Jack, trying hard not to move his face and slow the makeup artist down. From this angle, seeing only part of Jack’s face, he couldn’t tell what he’d meant by the question. He tried, “I’m always going to be your dad, Jack, no matter what’s happening in my career. No one’s harassed you about this, have they?”

            “No.” Jack looked up and Cas caught sight of his brown eyes, looking blank and earnest as always. “I want to know about you, dad. Are you okay? If this was the rest of your life... the cameras and the security teams and the constant motion and... Dean, would you be okay?”

            Cas reached out his hand and Jack took it. He squeezed his fingers hard. “This is my dream. Honestly.”

            Jack nodded and dropped his hand just as fast as he took it.

            Cas got the all-clear from the makeup artist and gave Jack a one-armed hug as he stood. Jack leaned up against his side, silent, considering. If Cas knew one thing about his son though, it was not to push him. He’d open up when he was ready.

            By the set, Dean and Claire were in the middle of a conversation with Bela. The words that reached Cas sounded like an argument but Dean kept laughing and Bela had a hand on his arm. The distance between them was practically non-existent.

            Cas felt a flare of ugly jealousy in his chest but pushed it off. Bela acted the same way with him, with every person on set, and Dean should be no different. He smiled as he reached them and Bela said, “Has the prince finally arrived?”

            “How many times do I have to apologize?”

            Bela hummed, pressing her bright red lips together. Then she flicked her eyes up to Dean and curled closer to him. “What do you think, Dean? Do we want to properly hear him beg?”

            Dean laughed as he looked down at her. Cas searched for signs he was uncomfortable, that he should pull Bela off, but Dean seemed enamoured with her. “I think he’s suffered enough,” Dean said. He placed his hand over Bela’s, curling their fingers together, and then stepped back. “It was nice to meet you.”

            She winked and stepped back onto set.

            “Well, I shouldn’t hold them up anymore.” Cas hesitated and then stepped forward to kiss Dean. Their lips met far from softly and Cas pushed into the sudden kiss, happy to feel Dean respond in kind, his hands reaching for him, his body leaning forward. Cas stepped back before Dean could touch him, smiled, and said, “I’ll be right back.”

            Cas took the seat next to Bela and tried to ignore the winning smirk on her lips. He rested his feet on the base of the stool. She leaned towards him, barely twisting her neck, and whispered, “Jealousy is a sign of mistrust.”

            He closed his eyes, willing himself not to hate the person he had to work closest with on this project. But she made it so easy with her little smirks and innocuous comments and the way she touched Dean like she owned him. She even touched Case now, her hand resting just momentarily on his knee as the director counted down the seconds until the cameras rolled.

            “And he’s here with your kids.”

            The director called action.

            Cas opened his eyes and plastered on his press smile. Bela’s hand slipped away. The interviewer welcomed the cast to the set and went on a small spiel about the show before she broke out the questions. Most of them were easy – how did you connect with your characters, have you read the books, how closely does the show follow the books, etc. – and Cas fell into the easy rhythm of playing off his coworkers. They worked well as a team. Even his sudden burning hatred for Bela couldn’t stop him from laughing at her jokes, reacting easily to her friendly touches, and finishing her sentences.

            The interview dragged. It was the first one in a while that had done so. Twelve people had to answer every question so that the studio could pick and choose whose answers were best, which moments were the funniest or the most profound. Cas had to answer the same question three times because the studio didn’t want the same answers he’d given in every other interview and Cas had nothing else to say but the party line.

            Two hours in, the director let them take a five minute break. Cas stood, stretching his shoulders, and walked over to where Dean and the kids had sat down by Craft Services. “Why don’t you three get out of here?” Cas said.

            Dean looked up at him. “You sure?”

            “Yeah.” He glanced at his kids, who looked half-asleep and sore. The plane to the photo shoot to this endless interview couldn’t be good for them. He felt guilt settle in his stomach. “Do you have anything booked for today?”

            Dean shook his head. “Not until the concert tonight.”

            “Then you guys should go and find some real food and I’ll meet up with you once this circus is over with.” He offered his hand to Claire, who took it, and he pulled her up. Dean and Jack got to their feet on their own. Cas hugged both his kids, then Dean, and said, “Thanks. I hope it’s not much longer.”

            “You’ll text me when you’re done?” Dean said.

            Cas nodded then watched them all turn their backs on him and head for the door, half the security team trailing after them. He watched until the black-suited bodies obscured them from view, then sighed and grabbed a bagel off the Craft Services table.

            As he spread cream cheese on it, Benny stepped up beside him. “If it helps, she’s not his type.”

            Cas let out a disbelieving laugh. “Gorgeous, sexy, and just a small push away from being a dominatrix isn’t his type?”

            Benny smiled. “Maybe for something quick. But you’re the real deal. Trust me.” He squeezed Cas’ shoulder, then stepped away.

            Cas managed to eat half his bagel before he was called back to set. While sitting on the hard metal stool, a woman brushed concealer over his face again. He forced his smile back on as the cameras rolled, his cheeks getting sore, and laughed along with his coworkers’ jokes. He answered every question with an earnest desire for the interview to end, flirted with Bela for the fans, and even managed to blush when the interviewer asked about chemistry on set. Not one question about Dean graced the interview, an oddity that Cas felt he’d never get used to.

            Ninety minutes later, they finished. The interviewer thanked them all, apologized for how long it took, and sent them on their way. Cas went to the bathroom to wipe the makeup off his face and, when he came out, nearly ran into Charlie.

            She smiled up at him. “Dean’s with the kids at a diner down the block. I told Benny I could get you there without the world ending, if you want a break from him.”

            Cas felt the urge to cry overwhelm him but he simply nodded as she led him towards the car. He slipped into the backseat, took the water bottle she handed him and glugged half of it down. Wiping his lips, he looked down at his feet and tried to remind himself what it was like to breathe.

            “Tough interview?”

            Cas shook his head. “Just long.”

            Charlie squeezed his fingers. “Three more interviews for the movie, then it’s released, and the show premieres three weeks after that. You’re in the home stretch and you’re doing great.”

            The car rolled to a stop and Cas glanced out the window. The diner had a subtle fifties style to it, the booths vinyl and the floor checked but without the overwhelming neon lights or waitresses on roller skates. The whole front wall was glass and, sitting in a booth in the corner, Cas could see Dean and the kids.

            Dean sipped on a milkshake as Claire held her hand spread on the table and a knife in the other. Cas felt his heart jump into his throat even as he reminded himself that Claire was a pro at five finger fillet. Jack sat slumped, his head on his arms on the table. Dean glanced his way and nudged his milkshake closer to him. Jack lifted his head and took as sip, as if the whole thing was too much for him. After taking a deep breath, Claire started to move the knife.

            Charlie nudged Cas in the ribs. “Going in?”

            “In a second,” he whispered, staring through the window at the small family on display, the yellowing wallpaper behind them, and the security lurking just a few booths away.


	69. Chapter 69

The movie premiere came fast. Dean had thought they had time after they put the kids on a plane back to Orlando. But really, they had days. And now, they had hours. Dean stood in front of his dresser mirror as his hands shook too much to properly tie his bow tie. He cursed under his breath as he fumbled the slick fabric.

            Cas appeared behind him in the mirror and reached for the bow tie. With steady hands, he tied the knot, straightened it, and stepped to the side. Beside each other, Dean thought they looked more like cater waiters than a dashing Hollywood couple. The black suits, black ties, and white shirts held little imagination but imagination wasn’t expected of them. The movie should be the focus, not their outfits for the premiere.

            Dean reached for Cas’ hand and intertwined their fingers. Even still in the house, he could feel the panic clawing its way out of his stomach, reaching for his throat. He imagined the cameras flashing in a line, the red carpet, Balthazar steps away, reporters yelling at them, and the security team more than an arm’s reach away.

            Cas pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Are you ready for this?”

             “Imagine. If everything had gone to plan, this would be our last night out together.”

            Nervous laughter left Cas’ lips. “Is this your way of telling me something?”

            “No.” Dean tilted his head towards Cas and pressed their lips together. He kissed him softly at first, then with more urgency as their lips parted.

            Cas pulled back first, pressing his lips tight together and stepping away. “We’re already dressed and the car comes in ten minutes.”

            “I can work with that.”

            Cas fought his smile off his lips. “No.”

            Dean smiled back at him, felt his heart grow two sizes bigger, and every nerve inside him calmed. All he had to do was stand at his boyfriend’s side, smile, and hold his hand. And he would hold Cas’ hand anywhere, anytime, without a second thought about it. His racing thoughts started to slow down. He wasn’t Dean Winchester tonight; he was Castiel Novak’s boyfriend. Somehow, he liked that better.

            As Cas headed downstairs to take a call from Charlie, Dean fingered the ring box in his suit pocket. He had yet to decide when to do it – tonight? tomorrow? a different week altogether? – but he liked to keep it close. When Cas seemed insecure, Dean just touched the box and knew he could wipe all those fears away in a second flat. All he needed was the perfect moment.

            The car came a few minutes early and they made their way towards it with only loose security. Most of the cameras had moved to the premiere, knowing the money was there and not here on their front lawn. Dean waved to the few people camped out and held Cas close as they entered the car.

            Inside, Benny and Donna ran through the security protocol for the event with them. A movie premiere had a lot of its own security, so their team was limited to Benny, Donna, and Meg. None of them would be shadows tonight; they’d blend in with event security in case anything unexpected happened. Otherwise, they were alone on the red carpet and inside the theatre. They just had to shake hands, talk to reporters, and smile pretty.

            The car rolled up to the premiere and Dean looked out at the scene – dozens of photographers and reporters, big white backdrops, movie posters, a marquee in the distance, a long red carpet, and a cacophony of noise. Balthazar had arrived before them and was just a speck in the distance now, speaking animatedly with a group of huddled microphones.

            Cas squeezed his hand. “Ready?”

            “As I’ll ever be.”

            Someone opened their door and Cas stepped out. Dean followed after him, blinking into the flashbulbs. He raised a hand to wave. They stopped in front of the backdrop, smiling. Dean wrapped an arm around Cas and he did the same. Someone shouted at them to kiss and Cas pressed his lips to Dean’s cheek. They moved a little further along, stopped again, and smiled at new people.

            When they left the cameras behind, the reporters started to shout at them. Cas stopped at nearly every one, answering one or two questions about the movie before moving on. Dean tried to contribute when he could, laughed along when someone said they were excited for the sex scene, and felt like an odd accessory to the whole thing. Halfway down the line of reporters, he whispered to Cas, “Seems like you could have done this without me.”

            “I wouldn’t have this role without you,” Cas replied. He turned and he was so close, his breath on Dean’s lips, his eyes sparkling. “I wouldn’t have any of this without you.”

            Dean kissed him but Cas pulled away as the cameras started to click again, the smile evident on his lips. “Keep it professional,” he chided, barely containing his laughter.

            Dean almost pulled him back but he let him go instead, his hand reaching for the box in his suit jacket. The next few reporters joked along with them until one said, “And you two are still going strong?” in what Dean thought might be a skeptical tone.

            Another reporter asked a question about working with Bela but seemed to direct it half at Dean, who had no words until Cas quickly stepped in to answer. Further down the line, someone asked how hard it was to be apart so often. When Cas replied by saying they’d been together on the press tour, the man said, “No, I mean when Dean was on tour back in the fall.”

            However, they made it to the end of the press line with minimal damage. “That was weird,” Dean said as they stepped through the doors of the theatre. Inside, the oppressive L.A. heat was replaced with a sudden blast of air conditioning strong enough to freeze a melting ice cream cone. Dean shivered even as he took his hand out of Cas’ to wipe the sweat off his palm.

            “Yeah,” Cas said.

            Dean checked his phone but no new notifications had come through. He put it on silent as they slipped into the auditorium and took their assigned seats in the middle of the theatre. Never in his life had he been in a theatre filled to the brim with people in formal attire. The whole thing felt slightly surreal. Instead of a movie screen, Dean felt like he should be looking at a stage in an old opera house. He kept expecting a fat lady to come out and sing.

            The movie started soon enough. Dean actually jumped during the opening sequence and grabbed on to Cas’ arm. Cas chuckled lightly, then shifted closer, intertwining their fingers together. Watching himself have sex on screen was sexy and awkward at the same time. He squirmed in his seat as he watched Cas kiss down his body, hands all over his chest, even though he knew half of the scene had been taped with body doubles. He thought, just momentarily, he heard himself whimper Cas’ name but maybe that was a trick of his subconscious as the fantasy of glittery, mesh-clad Cas played out in his head.

            Dean held his hand to his mouth, both horrified and amazed, during the scene where Cas broke down in the circle of ghost brides. He begged them not to make him kill Gabe. He insisted he didn’t want to. He cried. And yet, the whole time, Dean could tell he was lying. When the climax hit, the bloody and gruesome murder of Gabe, followed by Michael being overcome by the ghosts and becoming one of them, it left Dean shaking in his seat as the credits rolled.

            The audience burst into applause. Dean hesitated a moment before joining them as the cast got to their feet and waved to the directors, producers, and critics who graced the theatre. When everyone else started to move, Dean got to his feet too. He grabbed Cas’ arm and said, “That was... fucking amazing. Terrifying. The best horror movie I’ve ever seen.”

            Cas smiled at him. “So you admit you were scared?”

            Dean narrowed his eyes. “If you repeat that to anyone—”

            “You’ll what?”

            They had made it out of the auditorium, the crowd moving them forward and the plethora of paparazzi visible through the glass doors. Dean pulled Cas to the side and said, “I’ll show you what.”

            Laughing, stumbling, kissing, they made their way out the theatre’s backdoor. Dean pressed Cas up against the concrete wall and kissed him until his lungs screamed for air. He let his hands explore under Cas’ suit jacket, undoing buttons on his shirt when he could. He bit into his neck and sucked on the wounds, sometimes laying gentle kisses and other times lapping at Cas’ sweat with his tongue.

            Cas half-laughed, half-moaned through all of it. He kept reaching for Dean, bringing their lips back together on hard smiles, and trying to keep him close. “Is this your way of saying you liked me in the movie?”

            Dean hummed his response.

            “Did the sex scene get you all hot and bothered?”

            “Yeah.” Dean shoved their hips together and let Cas feel his erection. He got the last of the buttons on Cas’ shirt undone and twisted a nipple, letting Cas’ groan rumble hot breath across his neck. “That and the one with Balthazar and I couldn’t wait to get my hands on you.”

            Cas laughed.

            “You’re so fucking hot.”

            “I don’t have full body makeup in real life.”

            “I don’t care.”

            Their lips connected again and Dean felt the heat build in his body, the pressure in his pants. Part of him, the smart part of him, knew he had no chance of fucking Cas at the back of the theatre without someone taking a picture of them. He knew they had to make it home – or at least to the car – before he could take Cas’ pants off. But the part of him that still wanted to be a rebellious teenager, that wanted to fuck Cas until he knew every thought Dean had ever had, thought five more minutes out here couldn’t possibly make a difference.

            As he rubbed up against Cas’ thigh, he let Cas keep their lips together. Cas kissed him like Dean had all those months ago outside the bar, when the cameras were flashing, and he just wanted to be in control. Tonight, he would do anything Cas wanted. He would give him everything. He wanted to give him everything always. And tonight, the day their movie premiered, when his boyfriend finally got to show the world how wonderful and talented he was, Dean needed him to know what he meant to him.

            Dean pulled away suddenly, remembering. Cas looked up at him with glassy eyes and a wry smile. He made no move to shift off the wall.

            “Cas, I...” Dean swallowed hard. He reached for the ring box. “I know everything’s been crazy lately and everything with us has always been crazy but... but I like us. I like everything about us and—”

            “Thank fucking god.”

            Dean had never in his life been more annoyed by Meg. She flew around the corner in a flurry of black curls and fast steps. Before saying another word, she grabbed them both by the shoulders and pushed them forward.

            “I’ve been looking for you two for twenty fucking minutes.”

            “What’s happening?” Cas said. And, despite the fact that his shirt was undone, his face flushed, and his lips bruised, he sounded worried. Under the dim lights at the back of the theatre, his face looked haunted.

            “Bad shit,” Meg said. “Bad shit.”


	70. Chapter 70

Cas paced the hotel room – their makeshift safe house – with a burgeoning sense of unease. Meg had refused to tell him anything – had gone so far as to tell him to “shut the fuck up” – and he had already come up with half a dozen ways that the world could be ending. Whatever had happened, it had warranted him being separated from Dean to get to the hotel in one piece. He’d seen the hoards of photographers and the flashing cameras from a distance but that was it. Everything else had been radio silence.

            Despite the warm night, the hotel room was freezing. Even after Cas had turned off the air conditioning, he continued to shiver. He had already called Kelly to make sure the kids were all right and she had woken them up in the middle of the night, completely confused, so they could reassure him themselves. And now he had nothing to do but wait and pace and worry.

            The door opened and Cas rushed forward, expecting Dean to finally join him. He’d been alone for fifteen minutes and he couldn’t think of any way that the ten minute drive to the hotel could be made any longer than the hour and a half it had taken Meg to get him there. But Dean didn’t appear. Charlie did. She leaned back against the door to close it, her lips pursed.

            “What happened?” Cas asked, unable to think of any way it could be worse than the deafening silence around him.

            She stepped forward and touched his shoulder. With guiding pressure, she made him sit down in the armchair by the window and then perched herself on the footrest. She dug her iPad out of her bag, fiddled with it for a moment, and then looked up at him. “What I’m about to show you is bad. And I mean it’s worse than anything I’ve ever shown you before.” Her voice broke on the words.

            Cas reached for her knee. “Tell me.”

            “I’m sorry.” She handed him the iPad.

            Cas read the headline: _CHEATED AGAIN_ – _the secret affairs, the secluded fights, the world’s favourite couple EXPOSED._ He read it three times, his knuckles going white on the edges of the iPad. Then he scrolled down.

            The article started by reminding the reader that he had been cheated on before by his ex-wife. It did its best to diplomatically call him pathetic in his pursuit of her while also gently berating him for putting himself in the same situation again. Cas glanced up at the byline – Naomi, of course.

            It went on with a detailed timeline of Dean’s exploits. Half of them contained proof – photos, hotel records, detailed interviews with people Dean had slept with including Hailey, who had opened for the additional dates on his tour – and the other half were mere speculation, but backed with an overwhelming amount of data. Cas blinked the tears out of his eyes as he read.

            When he neared the end, the movie premiere questions finally made since. The reporters on the red carpet knew this article was about to drop, that Naomi was about to ruin his life, and they’d lied through their teeth. His hands shook so bad he nearly dropped the iPad but Charlie took it from him gently, twisting her fingers around his.

            “Where is he?” Cas asked, choking back tears.

            “A few rooms away,” Charlie said, “but before you—”

            “I’m gonna kill him.”

            Charlie pursed her lips. “Most of the speculation is just that – speculation. And everything they actually have proof of happened long before you two were actually involved.”

            He stared at her, trying to get control of his breathing, of his shaking body, of anything. But he had never felt closer to dying in his life. Even when Charlie had sat him down in a room much like this one to tell him about the Kelly scandal, he had been able to form words. At least he had reason to be angry then. At least he had emotional cause to break down. Charlie was right – this was the worst thing she’d ever told him.

            “You and I both know that doesn’t matter,” Cas tried not to let his voice break and failed. “You know what this looks like. You know what it means.”

            Charlie nodded and squeezed his hands tighter.

            “I’m going to fucking kill him,” Cas repeated because focusing on the small, almost nonexistent part of him that was angry was so much easier than dealing with the pain. “He couldn’t keep it in his pants for two months? Three?”

            “I’m sorry.”

            “You didn’t do this, did you?”

            Charlie blinked but, bless her, remained close. “I really hope you don’t think so little of me to believe that, no matter how much I disapprove of your boyfriend, I would put you through this pain on purpose.”

            “No.” Cas bit his tongue. “Never.”

            They sat there, hands clasped, not moving, barely breathing, for a long time.

            “Will this affect the movie?” Cas managed.

            “A film where you play opposite the man your ex cheated on you with while also having a sex scene with a different ex who also cheated on you?” She managed to crack a smile. “It’s gonna be the first horror movie with a shot at a box office record.”

            When Cas was relatively sure he wouldn’t cry, he had Charlie go get Dean. He went to the bathroom, washed his face, and forced himself to take several deep breaths even as he heard his heart cracking in two. He wondered what he would tell the kids. He thought about explaining it to them. He had promised Kelly that he’d tell the kids first if things went bad with Dean but the thought of waking them up a second time tonight was too much. He shut out all thoughts of them because he couldn’t cry. He wouldn’t cry.

            A knock sounded on the door and Cas went to answer it. Dean hugged him as soon as it opened and Cas let himself sink into his touch, into the scent of him, for just a moment before he pulled away.

            “I’m so sorry,” Dean said, breathless. “They told me and then they made me wait while they told you and I... I can’t believe they’d do this on the day of the movie premiere. I’m so fucking sorry, Cas. I didn’t think—”

            “Please stop.” Cas felt the words like a rock in his throat. He saw the moment Dean registered the look on his face, the shaking in his hands, the redness on his cheeks. He felt the sudden space between them like a block of ice. “Stop talking,” he said, even though Dean already had.

            Dean’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I didn’t cheat on you.”

            “I know.”

            “That article is bullshit.”

            “Is it?” Cas gritted his teeth. “Because some of those fans seem really damn sure they slept with you when we were supposedly starting to date and Hailey, certainly, seemed genuine when she described all the places you fucked while on tour.” He hated the anger in his voice, the hurt in his chest, even though Dean had been nothing more than a meal ticket to him at that point.

            “Most of it is bullshit,” Dean amended. He stepped forward but stopped when Cas stepped back.

            “Do you have any idea how bad this is?”

            “Yes. Of course. But—”

            “But what? But you didn’t actually cheat on me?” Cas crossed his arms. “Congratulations, Dean. That’s great. But what the fuck am I supposed to say to the reporters? To the public? To the millions of people currently tweeting at me to say I should have seen this fucking coming?”

            “That it was ages ago. That you forgive me. That I’m different now.”

            Cas sniffed as he felt the tears push against the dam at the back of his eyes. “And when the tabloids call me gullible, when they call me a sucker, when they post picture after picture after picture of you with Benny or Bela or whoever the next pretty face on your tour is, what do you expect me to do?”

            Dean stared at him, his jaw setting. “You can’t be mad at me for this,” he said. “All of it happened before we were together, before we even slept together. I broke things off with Hailey _because_ I had feelings for you.”

            “It doesn’t make a difference.”

            “It does!” Dean shouted. “It does. Because I didn’t fucking cheat on you!”

            “But it looks that way!” Cas swallowed hard, found the last traces of strength inside veins, and steeled himself for the worst of it. Five minutes and it would all be over. Five more minutes and Dean would storm out and Charlie would come back with ice cream and alcohol and he could cry for the rest of the night. “And what the fuck can I say to make it look different? What do you want me to tell them? The truth?”

            “If that’s what it takes.”

            “It would ruin me, Dean.”

            “So? Is your reputation really more important to you than I am?”

            Cas bit down on his tongue, on the hundred things he wanted to say to that, because he knew all of them would just make it hurt more.

            “Oh.” Dean stepped back like he’d been slapped. “Wow.”

            Cas rubbed his arms as the chill of the room seeped into his veins and made his world slow down. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Dean’s eyes now so, instead, he stared at their feet, three feet away from each other, a river of lies in between them. “My reputation is all I have,” he whispered. “It’s the only thing getting me roles.”

            “Last time I checked, I was the only thing getting you roles,” Dean snapped.

            Cas’ anger flared as he looked up to meet Dean’s glare. “What happened to how great I was in the movie? How it was all me?”

            Dean huffed out a breath, then shrugged. “You wouldn’t have had the chance without me.”

            Fighting felt so useless. Cas knew they could stand in the hotel room all night, hurling insults, making apologies, wavering between yes and no answers until they were too tired to speak, but nothing would change. The article was out there. Dean had been branded a cheater and Cas had been twice cuckolded. He felt the rumours and the whispers swirling, could almost hear fans calling him pathetic, lamenting his low self-esteem, berating him for staying with someone who could betray him like that, insulting him for trying to keep someone who didn’t want him for a second time.

            “I’m sorry,” Cas whispered. He forced himself to meet Dean’s eyes. “It’s done.”

            Dean shook his head, his anger wavering until it broke. He stepped forward quick and grabbed Cas’ shoulders. “No, please. Don’t do this.”

            “I have to.”

            “I love you.”

            Cas felt the beat where he should say it, where the words should come easily. “But you don’t really,” he whispered.

            “I do, really.”

            Cas wanted to sob. He wanted to scream. Instead, he turned and went to sit on the end of the bed. The springs squeaked under his weight, filling the room with their noise as he settled and looked down at his feet. The time to tell Dean the truth, to reply in kind, had come and passed so quickly Cas felt like he’d barely blinked. Somewhere in another room, a shower came on. The springs squeaked again as Dean joined Cas on the bed.

            “So that’s it?” he said, his voice low and raw. “First sign of trouble and you run?”

            “You know it’s not the first.”

            Dean curled his fingers into Cas’ and squeezed. Cas stared down at their hands, felt the heat of Dean against his skin, and he wished he could take it all back. Not the breakup, not just the ugly silence after those three words, but everything from start to finish. He wished he’d scoffed at Sam’s proposal and walked out. He wished he’d never met Dean in the first place. He wished he hadn’t had the experience that made this hurt like a knife in his gut that he just kept twisting with his own hands.

            Dean’s hand touched his cheek, then turned his head. Cas looked into his sparkling green eyes, saw the tears there, and wanted nothing more than to make them disappear. But he had no words that wouldn’t hurt.

            Dean kissed him and Cas let him. He let Dean push him down onto the mattress and crawl on top of him, his hands exploring his chest and his kisses as urgent and insistent as they were slow. Cas curled his hands into Dean’s hair and pulled him closer, let himself imagine that he never had to let him go.

            Time ceased to exist. The scandal didn’t exist. There was only Dean, his breath, his hands, and his lips. The smooth scrape of his skin as he wrapped his fingers around the back of Cas’ neck and pressed his thumb against Cas’ pulse point.

            Cas remembered this sensation, this feeling that Dean could take him over with a kiss. He remembered thinking that kissing Dean sober would kill him. Maybe it already had.

            He started to undo the buttons on Dean’s shirt, his fingers grazing the bare skin underneath. He pushed off his shirt along with the jacket and heard them thump to the floor as Dean kissed down the length of his neck to settle in the hollow of his throat. His fingers worked open the buttons of Cas’ shirt, cloth giving way to bare skin, the muscles of Dean’s stomach pressing against his own.

            Cas closed his eyes to the sensations, willing his brain to turn off as Dean kissed lower. His fingers curled under Cas’ waistband and then unzipped his pants. He wasted no time pulling Cas’ pants off and enveloping his cock in his hot, wet mouth. Cas groaned and whimpered, but resisted the urge to make Dean go faster. If anything, he wanted him to go slower.

            Dean swirled his tongue along the length of his cock, bobbing up and down at a rhythmic but torturously slow pace as his nails dug into Cas’ thighs. Cas let out a string of whimpers but refrained from begging, from helping, even as pleasure pulsed through him and he felt himself getting harder, getting close.

            Too soon, Dean stood and stripped off the rest of his clothes. Cas propped himself up to watch as Dean stood bare at the end of the bed, the picture of perfection with his smooth muscles and slight tummy and sweat gleaming against his un-airbrushed skin. Cas thought he looked more beautiful now than he had on screen, pores brushed away and muscles moving in cinematic rhythm.

            As he stepped back towards the bed, Cas sat up to meet him. He reached for Dean’s neck and pulled him down into a heavy kiss. He wanted to kiss away every thought he’d ever had. And, as Dean pushed him back into the mattress, their bare legs intertwining, he almost did.

            Dean grasped his ass and propped his hips up on a pillow. Cas huffed out a breath as he was tugged into position, tempted to say something but terrified to break the silence. Dean reached for the lube that had fallen out of his pocket and onto the floor. He spread it between his fingers to warm it and then stuck one finger up Cas’ ass.

            Cas gasped at the cold, at the stretch, at the suddenness of the movement. Dean worked slowly, swirling his finger inside of him and stretching slowly before adding another. He kept his other hand firmly on Cas’ hip, holding him down. Dean bit his lip as his eyes flickered over Cas’ body, never touching his face.

            Cas felt the nerves in his ass burning, the heat of his hard cock against his stomach, but his heart felt outside of it. He wanted to make promises, to kiss the blood off Dean’s lip, to whisper and joke like they usually did. Dean added a third finger and stretched him wider. Cas’ mouth dropped open in a groan that rumbled through his body and the edge of a smile touched Dean’s lips.

            “Dean—”

            “Shh.” Dean kissed him as he removed his hand. A moment later, he lined his cock up with Cas’ hole and whispered, “Ready?”

            “Yes,” Cas breathed against his skin. He kissed his jawline.

            Dean pushed in, his girth stretching Cas out as he slowly made his way in. Cas whimpered, his teeth scraping against Dean’s jaw. He held on to his shoulder, pulling his sweaty torso closer until he bottomed out. Cas screwed up his face against the pain, against the overwhelming pleasure shooting through every nerve in his body, so at odds with the tears he was holding back.

            Dean huffed out a heavy breath against his chest as he pressed quick kisses against his collarbone. Then, he sat back, swung one of Cas’ legs over his shoulder and held it there, and pulled out just to slam back in. He gripped Cas’ ass with his free hand, propping him up further, and set a punishing pace.

            Cas heard the sounds leaving his mouth – the moans, the groans, the whimpers, the begging pleas of Dean’s name – but was powerless to stop himself as pleasure slammed into him again and again. He watched the tensing of Dean’s muscles with every thrust, the droplet of blood forming on his lip. He wanted to reach for him, to touch him, to kiss him, but Dean thrust with a kind of wild abandon that left Cas too weak to even blink at his own command.

            Not that he wanted to blink. Not that he wanted to miss a second of this.

            As he felt pleasure pulsing closer, Dean wrapped a hand around the base of his cock and squeezed. A litany of begging gibberish left Cas’ lips as Dean continued to hit his prostate on every thrust. Dean closed his eyes as he chased his own orgasm, his cock hot and pulsing inside of Cas. Cas squeezed his ass, did his best to milk it out of Dean, hoping to get to come soon.

            Dean spilled hot and wet inside of him, thrusting through his orgasm as curses left him breathless. He pulled out, barely breathing, and looked down at the mess between them. His hair had fallen out of its spikes, sweat making it heavy against his forehead, and Cas reached up to touch his chest. The sweat there stung the palm of his hand.

            “I love you,” Cas managed.

            Dean started to jack him off, fast and hard, and Cas came with less than five thrusts, spilling out over Dean’s fingers with a shout. He huffed his breathing back into rhythm as Dean stroked him through the aftershocks then removed his hand.

            As he stood up, licking the come off his fingers, he said, “But you don’t, really.”

            The door slammed too fast. Cas blinked up at the popcorn ceiling, his heart racing to catch up with his breathing while both left his brain behind. He thought of the shaking, squeaking bed just moments ago, Dean on top of him and glistening, the come staining his fingers and the come dripping down Cas’ thighs.

            Then reality slammed into him. Cas felt the last of his resolve seep out of him and he started to cry.


	71. Chapter 71

October was ending much the same way it began – unseasonably warm, the California sunlight bathing everything in golden light, and the wind the only part of the weather that insisted on misbehaving. Dean sat on the deck of his apartment, fiddling with notes on his guitar while the city raced by below. Goosebumps appeared on his bare arms as the wind rushed by and cars honked on the road below.

            He liked the noise, the change of pace, the lack of paparazzi on his front lawn. The doorman did a great job weeding out the people who were lying when they asked to see him and his permanent security team kept his address a secret as best they could. His new place had all the luxury of his old place – three bedrooms, four bathrooms, a private recording studio, and outdoor space – just twenty floors up.

            Chuck knocked on the sliding door before opening it. “Fallon wants the premiere of your bonus track on his show.”

            “Great.” Dean barely glanced up from the guitar. Even though he’d written the song, he was still having trouble with a chord change on the bridge. His fingers shook on the transition and he once again cursed himself for breaking a few fingers on that asshole’s jaw. Normally, he ignored homophobes on the street. That day, he’d just had to snap. “Book it.”

            “There’s a catch.”

            Dean looked up to see Chuck looking uncharacteristically nervous. He leaned in the doorway, chewing his bottom lip, his phone, for once, nowhere to be seen. Odd, considering they were talking about booking an appearance.

            “Dr. Akopian doesn’t mind working around my schedule,” Dean said, trying to guess what had made Chuck nervous. His manager had a thing about him making it to all his therapist appointments, every Tuesday evening, even though everyone involved had told Chuck multiple times that one skipped session wasn’t going to throw Dean completely off track in managing his anxiety.

            “It’s not that.” Chuck stepped away from the door and sat down in the chair across from Dean. Dean dropped his foot off it to give Chuck more room as he said, “Can you put down the guitar?”

            “Unless you’re about to tell me the catch is I have to do the interview with a corpse or some viral YouTube sensation, I’m not putting down the guitar.”

            “Worse.”

            Dean met Chuck’s gaze. In it, he saw genuine worry and something he was still getting used to from him – the truth. He set the guitar aside and shifted to the edge of the seat. “Okay,” he said, “what’s the catch?”

            “Your interview partner.”

            “Some YouTube star?”

            “No. Star of TV’s latest hit show.”

            “You know I don’t watch that much TV.”

            “Cas.” Chuck said the name like it pained him. “They want you to do the interview with Cas.”

            Dean stared at Chuck for a long moment, letting the reality of the situation set in. He expected a panic attack, some burst of anxiety, or any sense of dread. But none of that hit him. He wondered if he was dissociating but as he gripped the armrest of his patio chair, he felt grounded. No sudden emotions rose, no new panic, no outright denial. He just felt what he always felt when he thought of Cas now – a dull sadness, regret, and just the tiniest flare of anger.

            He shrugged. “Book it.”

            “Dean—”

            “It’s been, what? Almost six months now?” Dean relaxed back into the chair, let out a deep breath to force his shoulders to release, and picked up the guitar again. He needed to get the chord change right before the show. “I can be in the same room as him.”

            “Can you?”

            “Make the usual requests.” Dean didn’t glance up from the strings. “No questions about our relationship, no mention of the scandal. We stay focused on my work and the bonus track. I’m not there to rehash the past and neither is he.”

            Chuck hesitated. “You know that if you open the door for it, they can ask it.”

            “I know.”

            “What are you going to say if they do?”

            Dean bit the inside of his cheek, feeling the anger rising. He closed his eyes and breathed through it. “The truth.” He finally nailed the chord change and repeated it just to make sure. “I loved him and he left me.”

 

“Didn’t the damn show air in the summer,” Dean muttered as he watched the screen in his dressing room. Cas sat on the blue set with Jimmy, both of them smiling, laughing. Cas looked good, perhaps better than Dean had ever seen him. Whatever diet and exercise plan the show had him on was doing wonders for his body and the tight blue suit he had on did nothing to hide it. Dean hated him a little more for that, hated him more freshly.

            “The network liked it so much they ordered a fall-winter season too,” Chuck said as he scrolled through his phone. “Season two premieres next week.”

            “Fucking great.”

            Chuck glanced up at him. “If you want, I can scramble and get you out of this.”

            “I’m here, aren’t I?” Dean crossed his arms tightly, wishing he could stop breathing and still do the interview. If he could black out, if he could sink fully into his persona and disappear as a person, and do the interview, he would. But as Chuck had told him multiple times in the last hour, he could recover from drunken photos at a club. He couldn’t recover from doing a live interview drunk off his ass.

            He had been fine in the weeks leading up to the interview. He had been fine that morning, that afternoon, but as soon as the car had come around, he had felt sick to his stomach. Chuck had given him his anti-anxiety meds but refused to let him pop more than two – a precaution Dean had put in place himself after he realized he’d popped half a bottle during a meet-and-greet two months ago. Now, he paced the makeshift dressing room glaring holes into Cas’ image onscreen and waited for his cue. He wished they would hurry up. Who cared about Mason Haverford and _Tattletale Tricks_? Dean had seen everything from fans who praised the show to fans who hated it for being so far from the books they might as well have just changed the names and done something different. Dean hadn’t seen so much as the pilot episode; he just read the reviews obsessively, hoping someone would slam Cas for being a horrible actor so he could feel better about himself. No luck so far.

            “Do they really have to ask him about his fucking sexuality?” Dean snapped. “Really? ‘Just in case you forgot, viewers, Castiel Novak is a raging fucking queer who used to bang our next guest.’ Fuck them.”

            “They’re talking about diversity in television,” Chuck said. “It’s relevant.”

            “It’s relevant,” Dean mocked him. He turned away from the screen and covered his face with his hands. His heart rate had picked up. No matter how long he avoided press about Cas, no matter what he did to forget him, every time he saw him on a magazine or screen, he felt his body react to him. He remembered every touch of his hands, his lips, his body. Hell, he’d written a damn song about it.

            Dean sunk to the floor and curled up in a ball, his breathing heavy. He heard Chuck curse softly in the background but he didn’t have the strength to tell him he wasn’t having a panic attack – even though he might have been – and he didn’t want to anyways. He breathed through it. He remembered his therapist’s words. Slowly, he uncurled himself and got to his feet. “How much longer?”

            “Three minutes.”

            “Shut that off?”

            Chuck pressed the power button on the remote and the TV went blank. The sound still crackled through the speaker, too important to block out, but Dean found it soothing. Cas’ voice was so warped by the old speaker system that he barely sounded like himself, barely sounded like the last three words he had said to Dean. Dean bit his lip to hold the tears back. He wouldn’t cry. Not here, not now, not so long after everything. When he poked at it, it still felt like a fresh wound.

            “Maybe this was a mistake.”

            “Too late now.”

            Dean cursed under his breath as the PA appeared to bring him to his mark. He blinked the worst of the tears from his eyes, forced a smile, and followed her out to the edge of the curtains. He could hear the audience’s chatter, the din of the studio under the bright red light that read COMMERCIALS IN PROGRESS. Soon, the studio would go quiet, the cameras would roll, and he would step out to Jimmy’s introduction. He would see Cas’ face in person for the first time in months. He would sit right next to him and ignore him, do an interview beside him but not with him, and the world would see what their relationship had become. From fire to ashes.

            The cue came. Dean plastered on a smile and walked onto stage, waving to the crowd. He shook Jimmy’s hand and walked towards the armchair without glancing at Cas. Part of him wondered if that was awkward, if he should say hi, but no one else ever did at these things. He had done enough of them to know people barely acknowledged him when he was already onstage. He settled into his seat as the screaming died down and Jimmy took his seat.

            “Quite a welcome you got there,” he said, laughing.

            “What can I say? I’m irresistible.”

            Jimmy laughed and Dean relaxed just a little. If he focused, if he kept his eyes forward, he could ignore Cas’ presence at his back.

            “So your brand new album, _Angel On My Shoulder,_ went platinum last week, just a month after it was released. Congratulations.”

            “Thank you,” Dean said. “I’m so happy to have my fans at my back and to have so many people enjoying my new music, especially since I know a lot of it was different from what they’re used to hearing from me.” Was he rambling? He felt like he was rambling.

            “What were some of your inspirations while working on your album?”

            Dean bit his tongue. Then he lied, like he always did. “A lot was happening in my life while I was writing this album and a lot had happened that I was just starting to deal with. And I think that this album is more personal than some of the other things I’ve written. A lot of the songs are really close to my heart.”

            “And tonight you’re going to play a bonus track from your album for us, right?”

            “Yes.”

            “What’s that about?”

            Dean blinked at him. How had he, in all the weeks of interview prep, not seen that question coming? It was so simple, such a staple in the industry, and he had forgotten it. Or maybe he’d simply forgotten his preparation for it. Had he come up with a lie for that? A few paltry words to describe a song he had poured all his pain and heartbreak into? He tried to open his mouth to form a reply but found he couldn’t.

            “Dean?” Jimmy prompted.

            Nothing. He had nothing. A live interview and he had nothing.

            Someone nudged his arm. Dean glanced over to see Cas smiling at him, worry glittering in his blue eyes, and, despite himself, Dean held on to that look, to the familiarity in his expression. How could Cas manage to look so different and so the same? “What?” Cas said, his voice full of jovial laughter and teasing mirth. “Is it about me? Is it mean?”

            Dean laughed. “It’s not mean.”

            “Oh? But it is about me?”

            Dean had never wanted to kiss a grin off someone’s mouth so much in his life. He had forgotten how easy things were with Cas, how fast Cas could pull him out of panic, how in sync they were at every moment. And, because cameras were on him, he swallowed down the urge to rebuff him, to be cold to him, to let all that anger and pain come to the surface. Instead, he accepted the ease and rolled his eyes.

            “The truth?” Dean said, glancing from Cas to Jimmy. A weight rolled off his shoulders as he finally let go of the lie. “In a weird way, the whole album is about Cas. Even the songs that aren’t directly about him are about things he helped me deal with while we were together. The whole thing, start to finish, is a love song to him.”

            “But it came out so long after you broke up,” Jimmy said.

            Dean shrugged. “That’s the way it goes in the industry, unfortunately. Albums are made months in advance and put on shelves when there’s space for them.”

            “And the new song is about Cas?”

            “Yes.”

            “And it’s mean?” Cas teased.

            Dean smiled at him. “No.”

            “Then what’s it about?” Cas leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, and Dean wondered how he could play the part so perfectly, how he could sink into flirty and friendly without even blinking. Was it an act? Was he so far into his character that he and Mason were the same? Or, had he always been like this, and Dean had just never noticed because he’d wanted him to be all over him?

            Dean met his eyes. “It’s about our last night together.”

            Cas blinked, then he blushed red as a tomato. There he was. The Cas Dean knew.

            “Told you you were a prude,” Dean said.

            “But I’m not a twink.”

            “Since you’ve opened the door here,” Jimmy cut in. Cas turned away first, breaking the hold he had on Dean, and Dean felt all the tension in his body dissipate. He met Jimmy’s somewhat apologetic look. “Sorry, I know you both said no questions about your relationship, but I have to ask. Everyone’s wondering. I’m wondering. If, you, Dean, were the one who cheated, why does it always seem like you’re the one who’s mad at Cas?”

            Dean opened his mouth to reply and found he had nothing. He knew exactly what Jimmy meant – on those rogue interviews where someone mentioned Cas’ name, he shut them down fast and harsh. When the same thing happened to Cas, he tended to play it diplomatically, his answers always infused with warmth and affection. Dean had avoided any mention of _Tattletale Tricks_. He knew Cas had mentioned the album once or twice, especially when someone brought up Dean like Cas should be mad at him. Even now, Cas was friendly and open whereas Dean had done his best to ignore him right up until the moment he couldn’t.

            “Dean’s not the one who messed up our relationship,” Cas said, stepping in as smoothly as ever. When Dean glanced over at him, he was facing Jimmy, but he looked earnest, open. “I am.”

            “He cheated on you.”

            “Ages ago. At the time the scandal broke, almost eight months had passed since their last speck of proof.” Cas sounded angry. “Dean told me the truth. He owned up to what had actually happened. But he hadn’t cheated on me for months. And I had the opportunity to believe him, to believe he’d changed, and I chose to protect my reputation instead.”

            Dean stared at the side of Cas’ face, willing him to look at him so he could tell if he was lying or not. But with Cas, it was so hard to tell. When they weren’t together, Cas had still defended him fiercely against the tabloid onslaught. This could be more of the same. Just Cas being Cas, no emotion involved.

            And as much as Dean wanted there to be emotion, as much as he wanted Cas to still love him, he thought maybe it would be better if he didn’t.

            “I’ll always love Dean,” Cas said, his voice softening. “Sure, things were messy between us but, being with him, it was the happiest I’ve ever been. And I threw that away. Not him.”

            Jimmy glanced between them and Dean forced himself to tear his gaze away from Cas’ profile, from the look on his face, from the glittering tears hanging onto his eyelashes. Six months. Almost six months and Dean could still give up everything, give up every part of himself, all over again, just because Cas protected him when he didn’t have to. Just because Cas had protected him six months after when it would have really counted.

            “Any chance we’ll see you two back together again?” Jimmy said.

            The crowd screamed. Dean closed his eyes for just a moment, his heart sinking like a weight in his chest. He felt Cas’ eyes on the side of his face, felt the weight of the decision on him. When he opened his eyes again, he forced a smile and said, “I think that’s in the past now.”

            Jimmy nodded and moved awkwardly into an introduction for the song. Dean got up and headed over to the band. He accepted the guitar handed to him, slung it over his shoulder, and practiced the chord change just one last time. His hand shook but he gripped the frets tight. He cleared his throat and waited for the cue.

            The music started off soft and slow. The ballad was far different from anything else on the album, far even from the song about Ben. It had an eerie, haunted quality to it that always gave Dean the chills. He pressed his lips up against the microphone, feeling the cold, cross-hatched metal against his mouth, and sang, _“This is my last breath now. My last inhale, of the soap on your skin, and the whiskey on your lips.”_

            The drums picked up in the background and Dean curled one hand around the microphone. _“This is my last breath now. My last exhaled sound, drawn from me by your lips, silenced by your kiss.”_

The band kicked in hard, the music crescendoing. Dean stepped back from the microphone to swing his guitar around and play the hook – heavy and metallic and screeching even against the slow beat. As he played, he sang, _“My last breath on your chest. My last breath in your kiss. My last breath, last breath, pressed against your neck. This is my last, last breath now.”_

            The song fell back into its smoother tones and Dean let the lyrics pour out of him. All the pain and anger he’d suppressed while sitting next to Cas, he let out now. As he made the chord change in the bridge, a tear rolled down his cheek. The song came to a close, the music going eerie and soft once more, as he sang, _“This is my last breath now. My last exhaled sound.”_

            He let the guitar drop from his hands, its weight swinging from his shoulder. As he held onto the microphone, the crowd screaming, he glanced back towards where Cas sat with Jimmy and saw the tears on his face too, the blotted cheeks, and all the broken promises sitting in between them.


	72. Chapter 72

“Your hand looks better.” Well, that was a hell of an opening line. Cas wanted to take it back immediately, as soon as Dean turned away from the Craft Services table to look at him, as soon as their eyes met and that old spark of tension shot through Cas. The weird thing was remembering how easy it used to be to touch Dean, to reach out to him, to say the right thing and now having all that knowledge but nothing to do with it. “I mean. You know.”

            Words used to be easier than this, Cas was sure.

            Dean smiled, just a little, just the edge of his mouth tugging upwards. “Thanks,” he said and offered nothing else as he went back to staring at the array of half-stale desserts on the folding table.

            Cas watched his profile and tried to figure out how much of his calm was fake and how much of it was real. Dean had been an open book to him once, something he’d read time and time again, finding something new on every read, but now he seemed locked shut. Cas couldn’t tell if he actually felt the way he’d acted on stage – calm, casual, able to laugh about it – or if he still sheltered all the pain in that song. He wanted to ask. He knew he had no right to ask.

            “You wanna get food somewhere?” Cas asked.

            Dean looked up at him again and, for a second, Cas thought he might hit him. Then, Dean sighed and said, “Yeah. There’s a dessert place a block or two down. You know it?”

            Cas nodded.

            “Meet you there.”

            As Dean stepped away, Cas reached for him on instinct. As soon as his fingers brushed Dean’s elbow, he dropped his hand but Dean had already froze. Cas felt like a deer in the headlights or a mouse that had stupidly stumbled across a cat’s paw. Swallowing his fear, he said, “I thought maybe we could just walk there. No security, no big production.”

            “Please tell me you still have a security team.”

            Cas bit the inside of his cheek.

            “You are literally the star of the biggest TV show of the summer.”

            He shrugged. “I never liked it.”

            “You’re a fucking idiot.”

            Cas laughed. “No argument here.” He let his eyes linger over the edges of Dean’s smile, soaked in the genuine exasperation in his words, before he met his gaze again. He raised his eyebrows in question.

            Dean let out a long, slow breath. “Fine. We’ll ditch ‘em.”

            From the great Dean Winchester, Cas had expected ‘ditching them’ to require a little more effort than walking up to Donna and telling her to take the night off. But given the late hour, the nearly empty city streets, and the studio security clearing the roads for them, she didn’t put up much of a fight. Soon, they were alone on the cold New York street, the wind blowing past them as the occasional car made its way down the street.

            Cas had never felt more alone than he did in that moment. Even with Dean at his side and the city sleeping, he felt locked in the wilderness of his own mind. He had so many things he wanted to say, so many apologies, but all of them felt like too little, too late. Even what he’d said in the interview didn’t seem like nearly enough. He hadn’t told the truth. He hadn’t fixed anything.

            Six months had been a long time without Dean. His time had been occupied with shooting for _Tattletale Tricks_ , moving Claire to L.A. for college, and trying to convince Jack not to join a cult. He had gotten closer with Kelly, fixed his relationship with Charlie, and moved out to L.A. permanently so he wouldn’t constantly be away from home while shooting for the show. He had listened to Dean’s album a hundred times, kept it on repeat even once he’d convinced himself that he didn’t miss him.

            His therapist called it a coping mechanism. Cas called it pathetic.

            “How’s Hailey?” he said. It felt weird to be using information from the tabloids to ask Dean about his life, to keep up with him. Just over a year ago, he hadn’t even known the guy existed and now he was buying tabloid magazines to keep up with his life.

            “That’s over,” Dean said. “Turns out she was only using me for my fame.”

            “Story of your life.”

            To his relief, Dean laughed.

            They walked into the dessert bar and the hostess led them to a table for two near the back. The dim lighting, flowers on the tables, and cozy atmosphere made unease creep across Cas’ skin. But the hard wooden chairs did little for the ambience and, cramped as it was, his knees knocked against Dean’s under the table in a far from romantic manner. The hostess handed them their menus, then disappeared.

            Dean immediately took the menu away from Cas.

            “Hey!”

            “They do a tasting menu, if you know who to ask.” He gestured to a teenager in black slacks, asked him about the tasting menu, and got a bright smile in return. The teenager took their menus then exited into the kitchen.

            “A tasting menu for a dessert place?”

            “It’s just every dessert on the menu,” Dean said, “but it’s worth it.”

            Cas smiled despite himself.

            “How’s Kelly?” Dean asked.

            “Fine.”

            A beat. “So you’re not back together?”

            Cas almost laughed before swallowing down the sound. “No. God, no.” He met Dean’s incredulous expression. “Don’t get me wrong. She’s great and we’re a lot closer now than we used to be but there’s nothing going on there.”

            “Why not? I thought she was the love of your life.”

            That was a loaded statement if he’d ever heard one. The brave part of him, the part that had asked Dean to come out with him, touched his elbow, asked to ditch the security, wanted to make it clear that Dean was the love of his life. But, another part of him, a more fearful part, one that knew Dean had every right to drop him like an old penny, pulled back from making things that crystal clear.

            He shrugged. “Things change.”

            The teenager came back with a large silver platter filled with desserts. He removed the flowers from the table and slid the platter into place. It just fit. He set down two forks and said, “Enjoy,” with a twinkling smile.

            “Thank you,” Dean said as he dug into a chocolate cake in front of him.

            Cas took longer perusing the options. He finally reached for a trifle like concoction in the middle of the platter and dipped his fork in. He savoured the sweet taste on his tongue, the chewy cake and smooth mousse. Then he moved on to the lemon meringue pie, the cream puffs, and the éclairs. He hummed in pleasure around the sweet tastes, his eyes falling closed.

            “Someone’s breaking his diet,” Dean chided.

            “Fuck off,” Cas said through a mouthful of cake.

            Dean laughed and nudged a bowl of Jell-O towards him. “Try it.”

            “I’m not a big fan.”

            Dean scooped some up on his fork and offered it to him. “Try it.”

            Jell-O or not, the weak part of Cas would not turn down an opportunity to eat off of Dean’s fork. He licked the Jell-O off the tines and moaned in surprise at the sour edge to the lime and the sweet confectioner’s sugar that lined it like a martini.

            “Give me more of that,” Cas said.

            “No.” Dean pulled the bowl away. “You’re a sloppy drunk.”

            “So that’s the bite.”

            “Premium vodka.”

            Cas shook his head as he licked his lips. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean watching the trajectory of his tongue, his eyes hungry. Cas’ heart skipped a beat, maybe two. But before more stupid things could be done, he forced himself to focus on the desserts in front of him.

            Before long, his stomach was bursting and the plates had been licked clean. He leaned back in the chair, his eyes half-closed as the waiter bussed their dishes. He murmured his thanks as Dean took the bill, sliding his credit card into the smooth leather. Cas tried to protest but Dean insisted and, with the sleepy weight in his stomach, Cas couldn’t find the heart to keep arguing.

            Once outside, Cas expected Dean to leave. But he just kept walking at his side in silence as the streetlights bathed them in an eerie glow. Cas had Dean’s song stuck in his head even as he listened to Dean’s breathing, even as he knew it was a lie.

            “Let’s play a game,” Dean said after a moment.

            Cas glanced at him. “What kind of game?”

            “I say something I’ve read about you in the tabloids and you confirm or deny it, then vice versa. No lying. No explanations.”

            “What if it requires an explanation?”

            “Did I stutter?”

            Cas smiled at the half-serious expression on Dean’s face, then nodded his assent. It was easier like this, walking side by side, unable to fully see his face. Cas felt a little more in control, a little less likely to bite his tongue or shove his foot in his mouth.

            “I’ll start.” Dean cleared his throat. “Did you date Bela?”

            “For a little while.”

            “Yes or no.”

            “Yes.”

            “Your turn.”

            Cas thought on it. “Did you break your hand because some guy on the street called me a fag?”

            “Yes. Did you fire Benny because we used to sleep together?”

            “Yes.” Cas wanted to add that it was more complicated than that. He’d fired Benny because he was Dean’s friend, because Cas had known Dean would need a friend, and if Benny was on his security team, Dean wouldn’t get the support he needed post-breakup. He hoped he had. He hoped Benny had gone back to him with open arms. “Is Benny joining your new tour?”

            “Yes. Do you have three kids with a secret mistress?”

            Cas snorted. “No. Do you?”

            “No. Do you still have your wedding ring?”

            “No.” Cas had sold it in an auction a few months back, although who wanted one wedding ring from a failed marriage was beyond him. “Do you still have the engagement ring?”

            Dean quieted and Cas looked at him for the first time since they’d started the game. Dean’s jaw had tensed, though he looked sad rather than angry.

            “Was there really an engagement ring?” Cas asked. The tabloids had speculated for weeks after the scandal broke about why Dean had taken it so hard, why he hadn’t seen it coming. At least one magazine, if not more, had concluded that the small shape they’d pretended to see in a few pictures was a ring box. And that he was going to propose. Not that Cas had ever believed it. Not that he’d ever wanted it to be true. “Dean?”

            “No.” Dean smiled slightly and his eyes shifted to meet Cas’. “Did Claire really punch a kid for saying I wasn’t good enough for you?”

            “Yes.” Cas laughed a little. He searched his head for a good joke question. “Do you really enjoy wearing women’s underwear?”

            “What?” Dean blushed a little.

            “The National Inquirer ran a story about how you like to wear women’s underwear.” Cas could barely get the explanation out around his laughter. It was hard not to laugh when Dean’s expression was such a genuine mixture of horror, embarrassment, and amusement. “I think you should send them a note or flowers or something. They deserve to know that they’ve run their first true story since they started publishing.”

            “Fuck off.”

            “It’s worthwhile! It could be anonymous. I could do it.”

            Dean shoved him and Cas stumbled to the side before biting down on his smile. He looked up into Dean’s green eyes, felt his laughter envelope him, and he no longer felt so alone. He slowed his pace, just a step or two, and then pulled Dean into the first open store he saw. It turned out to be a tourist trap filled with I-heart-NY crap and other bobbles.

            “New game,” Cas said. “Whoever can find the most tremendous waste of money wins.”

            “I win.” Dean pointed just over Cas’ head at an inflatable I-heart-NY snow globe roughly the size of a tool shed. The neon pink sign in front of it said it was on sale for three hundred dollars, originally six hundred.

            They wandered through the souvenir shop for a few more minutes before they ended up back on the street in silence, then in a bar three blocks down. The place was quiet, almost closed, and Dean promised the owner they’d be out as soon as his feet stopped aching. They slipped into a booth in the corner and Dean slung his feet up, trapping Cas in. Cas felt his heart jump into his throat but he swallowed it. Dean was all the way across the table, nowhere near touching him except where the edge of his foot brushed his thigh. Cas shifted away.

            “Anything else happen I should know about?” Dean asked. He spun a dirty glass against the bar, his eyes on the table.

            “I went to see my dad,” Cas said.

            Dean glanced up. “How’d that go?”

            “Bad.”

            “Did he recognize you?”

            “Yes, actually.” Cas almost cracked a smile. With space between him and the incident, it seemed almost funny. “And then he tried to exorcise the queer demon that had taken up residence in my soul. For an old man with Alzheimer’s, he had a remarkable grasp on Latin.”

            Dean blinked. “That’s horrible.”

            Cas shrugged. “He died a week later.”

            “I’m sorry.”

            “Thanks.”

            Tinny pop music played over the bar’s speakers, something half-upbeat, half-sad. Cas drummed his fingers against the tabletop. Then he looked up at Dean, at the tired lines on his face, at the twitch in his freshly healed hand. Six months had passed and already Dean looked like a whole new whirlwind of crap had landed on him. And how could he not? Twitter had attacked him after the breakup. Public opinion of him had been in the toilet. He’d gone on real or fake benders that placed him firmly back in the tabloid spotlight. Even at the interview, he’d seemed like the man Cas had met in Sam’s office over a year before – half drunk, still hungover, and without a thing to care about in the world.

            He had tried in the interview. Tried to sit back, tried to calm Dean’s anxiety, tried to be the person he’d used to be for Dean. But maybe that just wasn’t a possibility anymore. Maybe he had nothing left to offer him.

            “Let’s dance,” Cas said, surprising even himself.

            Dean met his eyes as he slid out of the booth and offered his hand. Slowly, Dean grasped his fingers and allowed himself to be pulled out into the small patch of cleared floor between them and the next table. Cas wrapped one arm around Dean’s waist and held on tight to his hand as he swayed back and forth to the music.

            After a few moments, Dean started to laugh. “This isn’t how you dance to Icona Pop.”

            “Shut up.” Cas’ lips brushed Dean’s skin and he pulled back almost immediately. He felt Dean settle into his arms, felt how easily they fit together. Outside, the city that never slept had decided to at least take a nap. At the bar, a girl cleaned glasses while an older man checked that all the alcohol was still in order. Their whispered argument barely reached Cas’ ears.

            “Do you remember the last time we did this?” Cas whispered.

            “Danced?”

            “No.” He pressed his mouth against Dean’s shoulder and felt the other man tense. He almost didn’t care. “Talked all night.”

            “In Michigan.”

            Cas nodded.

            “What are you doing, Cas?” Dean pulled back, his arms dropping. Cas held on to his fingers until he couldn’t anymore and Dean slumped back into the booth, rubbing his eyes. “Why are we here?”

            “It’s the only place open.”

            “It’s not open.”

            Cas glanced over his shoulder to see that the two employees at the bar had disappeared. The OPEN side of the sign was turned inwards and only a few lights were left on. No doubt, in a minute or two, the man would come back and tell them to scram.

            “You threw me away.”

            Cas shook his head. “I didn’t—”

            “You asked me to commit to you, to promise to be there for you and your kids, no matter what. And then as soon as things got just a little bit hard for you, you threw me away.”

            Cas swallowed down the anger in Dean’s voice, the hatred in his words. He had no argument against them, no defence for his actions. All he could manage was, “Sorry.”

            Dean shook his head and got back to his feet. “I can’t do this, Cas.” He met his eyes with a sad look, a somber acceptance of reality. “I never know what I’m getting with you. And I thought maybe that was worth it, maybe we could make something out of it, but you made it pretty damn clear that’s not what you want. Fame, fortune, Mason Haverford – that’s what you want. And you got it. Congrats.”

            Cas turned to watch as Dean walked past him. With his hand on the doorknob, he turned back to say, “And yes, I did keep the ring. But I’ll throw it out tonight.”


	73. Chapter 73

On three hours of sleep, Dean had no trouble walking up the familiar concrete staircase with his eyes closed. A harsh wind fluttered at his jacket but the air was still warm, the sun out at full heat. He lifted his face towards it right before the shadow of the floor above overtook him. He turned left to walk down the open hall, his fingers brushing over the metal railing. A converted motel had never seemed like the place for fancy apartment buildings to Dean but with the fresh coat of paint and knocked down walls, it made for a pretty luxurious hideout.

            He knocked on 3B, yawning. Inside, some sort of scramble ensued – yelling, feet pounding, an annoyed laughed – and then the door swung open.

            Cas stood there, half-dressed, with his shirt open and his hair wet. He had his back half to the door as he was still yelling at Claire and hadn’t seen Dean yet. Dean had the urge to step out of the way, to hide, to pretend he’d never been there at all. But his feet froze on the spot. And he knew playing ding-dong-ditch with his ex was worse than childish and Claire would tease him mercilessly for it. So he stayed perfectly still, his hands shoved in his pockets, and waited for the inevitable moment when Cas turned to him and the world stopped turning.

            Cas looked good. Like he hadn’t seen his ex who he still wasn’t over two nights ago and gotten yelled at for trying to brush it all under the rug. Dean, on the other hand, was sure he looked exactly like he’d seen his ex two nights ago and broken his heart into even tinier pieces.

            Cas turned. He blinked. The smile on his lips faded. “Dean,” he said.

            “Hey,” Dean said. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Is Claire ready?”

            “Two minutes!” she shouted from around the corner.

            Cas stepped back from the door. “Come in.”

            Dean stepped over the threshold, feeling like he had broken some sort of ancient curse. Not that he hadn’t been in the place before. It had an odd mix of poor college student furniture and divorced-dad-who-had-never-decorated-for-himself furniture. The couch was brown, cushy, and worn. The desk was bright white and obviously from Wal-Mart or IKEA. Plants sat on the windowsill in old margarine tubs filled with dirt.

            “Nice place,” Dean said, just to fill the silence. He let his eyes fall on all the decor he’d already seen, all the pictures of the family and the one that still broke his heart every time. On the hutch, at the back of a cluster of frames, was a photo of the four of them at Christmas – him, Cas, Claire, and Jack. He stared at it now even as he told himself not to. “Reminds me of my place.”

            Cas laughed. “The glass mansion?”

            “My new place.”

            Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Cas’ face fall. “Oh.”

            Dean felt his heart drop back into place and start beating again. He could analyze that look for days, months, without figuring out what it really meant. But, to him, then, it meant that he had sold _their_ house. Not his. And it had felt that way to him too when he’d signed the papers, when he’d tried to live there after Cas had left, when Charlie had come by to pack up Cas’ stuff.

            “Dad, you gotta go,” Claire said as she swung around the corner.

            “You could have told me you were having lunch with Dean.”

            “I could’ve told you a lot of things,” she said. “Right now, I’m telling you you’re fucking late.”

            “Language.” But he smiled around the word. Taking a step forward, he kissed her on the top of the head and said, “Have fun. I’ll be home for dinner.”

            “I won’t hold my breath.” She shoved him towards the door.

            Dean watched Cas as he left, as the door closed behind him, as he never looked back.

            “Sorry,” Claire said, grabbing his attention again. She shrugged when he looked at her. Her hair was tied back in braids and she had a nasty shiner barely concealed by makeup. “He was supposed to be gone twenty minutes ago. He usually is.”

            “I know.” Dean reached out and brushed the concealer off the wound. “Who decked you?”

            “New girl in boxing class.” She crossed her arms. “I kind of hate her.”

            “So you have a crush?”

            “Fuck off.” She turned around to grab her wallet as Dean laughed. He followed her out the door, down three flights of stairs, and they clambered into Dean’s Impala.

            He winced as she slammed the door and closed his own door gently. He turned the key, hearing the hum of the engine, and placed his hand against the dashboard. The engine clunked but fired to life and the tires screeched as he backed out onto the road.

            “When are you gonna let me drive this thing?” Claire said.

            Dean chuckled. “When I’m dead, kid.”

            “I’m a good driver. Better than you.”

            “This is a Winchester family heirloom.”

            “Like the guitar?”

            Dean nodded.

            “And I still get it when you die?”

            He shrugged. “You’re the closest I have to a kid.”

            She fell silent and Dean turned up the music on the radio. Things were usually easier with Claire or, at least, less heavy. They went to lunch once a month, sometimes more, sometimes less. She had texted just after the interview to ask him to come today, even though they’d just had lunch a few days before. Dean had known what it meant but he’d accepted anyways. After all, going to Cas’ place without seeing Cas wouldn’t get any weirder now that he had seen him. Seeing Claire wouldn’t be any more divorced-parents than it already was just because of one little interview.

            He drove to the diner they frequented and parked diagonally in two lots.

            “I park better than you, too,” Claire said as she got out.

            Dean ignored her and followed her in. The host led them to their usual table at the back and Dean pulled the curtain on the window to block the sun from his eyes. “Hungover?” Claire asked and he flipped her off.

            They made small talk until the waitress came to take their order and then, as soon as the menus were gone, Claire laid her hands on the table and gave Dean a measured look. He steeled himself for the conversation he’d known was coming.

            “So,” she began, “let’s talk about the elephant in the room.”

            “I saw him. So what?”

            “So you looked happy. So you seemed alive for the first time in months. So he saved you, like he always does, even though he didn’t have to.”

            “Even though he had no right to.”

            Claire swallowed hard but didn’t drop his gaze, didn’t blink. “My dad did a stupid thing. I know that. You know that. He knows it, too. I promise you. And he loves you—”

            “Don’t.”

            “Is staying in your fancy penthouse apartment and throwing lavish Hollywood parties just so you can feel less alone really what you want to do with the rest of your life?”

            “Wow. Look at you getting a B-minus in Intro Psych.”

            Claire bit her tongue as she glared at him. The waitress came back with their drinks and they both thanked her. Dean watched her walk away, equal parts scared to meet Claire’s eyes again and too angry to speak to her. He curled his hand into a fist under the table.  With a sigh, he released it and looked back at her. “You don’t get it,” he said.

            “Then help me get it.”

            “He didn’t want me, Claire.”

            “He was scared.”

            “He wanted his life of luxury and fame more than he wanted me.” Dean forced the words out even though each one felt like another self-inflicted stab wound. “He threw me away to keep his reputation as America’s Golden Boy. He stepped away from me, from us, from the life we were starting to build together, so that a million strangers wouldn’t think badly of him. You think this is some petty dispute that I can just forgive him for? You think this is something we can get through? It’s not. He made his choice. It wasn’t me.”

            “He made a mistake.”

            “He made a fucking big one.” Dean grabbed his water glass and downed half of it before setting it back down. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

            Claire slumped back against the booth.

            “Tell me more about this girl of yours.”

            A smile twitched at her lips. “Kaia. And I hate her, remember?”

            “Of course.” He smiled too.

            Lunch continued as it usually did. Dean teased Claire about the girl she liked, asked after her classes, and made sure her life was on track. She, in turn, questioned him about the tabloids, made sure he was eating his vegetables, and asked him about his career. He wondered, as he often did, how much of this she related back to Cas. But, given his surprise earlier, Dean had a sneaking suspicion she had never so much as mentioned his name to her father.

            After an hour and a half, Dean drove Claire back to the apartment. She asked him to come up and he followed, if only to continue to insist she go to her afternoon class like a good kid. She waved him off as she hopped up the steps. And Dean held his tongue, because who was he to insist on a perfect attendance record.

            She pulled out the old guitar and played Dean a song she’d started to write. He sat on the overstuffed couch and listened, smiling at the awful timber of her voice. “You’ll never be a singer,” he said, as he always did.

            “But I can get writing credit,” she said, setting the guitar aside, “and being a musician has never been the goal.”

            “You and your brother.” Dean shook his head. “Both hell-bent on saving the world.”

            “Not such a bad goal.”

            Dean smiled just as the door opened. Despite himself, he looked up to see Cas coming through the door. He looked back at Claire, who studiously busied herself packing away the guitar and picking up her school books. He rolled his eyes and said, “Hey, Cas.”

            Cas glanced over at Dean first, then Claire. “Don’t you have class?”

            “Yes, _dad_.” She swung her backpack over her shoulders and kissed him on the cheek. “Just on my way out.”

            “Me too.” Dean stood.

            “Stay a moment?” Cas said, barely looking at him.

            Dean hesitated as he watched Claire disappear through the door. As soon as it closed, he summoned the last of his courage, and looked Cas in the eye. “What do you have to say to me that you didn’t say the other night?”

            Cas pursed his lips. He looked away. “I didn’t know you were still in touch with Claire.”

            “I’m still here for the kids.” Dean swallowed. “Like you asked me to be.”

            Cas closed his eyes. His mouth opened, just a touch, as he chewed on his tongue, and Dean wondered where that new habit had come from. He watched the muscle move in Cas’ jaw, watched the wheels in his head turn. Part of him wanted to kiss the tension out of his shoulders, rub away the pain, but he held himself back. No matter how much he wanted it, he valued himself more. He itched to call his therapist, to get her opinion, to tell her everything, even though he had an appointment tomorrow.

            “Go to dinner with me,” Cas said. Not a question. He turned to catch Dean’s eye. “You still see my kids. We had that interview together. It’s a fucking miracle we’ve gone six months without running into each other. It shouldn’t... we shouldn’t let it be something that hurts this much.”

            “You want to be my friend?”

            Cas shrugged. “Weren’t we? Friends?”

            Dean hesitated. “I guess.”

            “Then... dinner. Tonight. Or tomorrow. We could—”

            “Wednesday,” Dean said. He mentally walked through his schedule then nodded, more to himself than to Cas. “If that works for you.”

            Cas nodded too. “Wednesday.”


	74. Chapter 74

Wednesday came with shaking hands and promises Cas already knew he couldn’t hope to keep. Friends. Had they ever really been friends? He had done his best to block out the media speculation about their interview, the swirling rumours that they might be back together, and the returning sexual tension rumours that plagued his Twitter feed. Charlie kept him updated on the important stuff and Cas did his best to keep logged out of the social media apps on his phone. He had episodes to tape and Bela to deal with and Claire running around his apartment like her hair was on fire.

            Cas stood in front of his dresser mirror as he tied his tie. He had already tried three other ties – each lay rejected on the edge of his bed – and, as he finished the knot on this one, he knew he’d have to toss it too. Maybe the tie itself was too much. Maybe he just needed to go with his collar open, no jacket necessary. But, no, it was a nice restaurant Charlie had booked them at, something private.

            “Dad, this is insane.” Claire stepped into his room and sat down on the mattress. “You’re acting like this is a date.”

            “It’s not a date.”

            “Tell that to your tie collection.”

            “Don’t you have your own date to get ready for?”

            “It’s not a date,” she snapped. But the way she pursed her lips when she looked down at his ties gave her away, along with the careful curls in her hair and the touch of makeup on her face. She’d even done her best to hide the bruise around her eye that she was so proud of.

            “Sure.” Cas grinned around the word as he pulled off the tie and threw it with the rest of them on the bed. He turned back to his closet.

            “He’s not ready, you know.”

            Cas bit down on his lip. He hated that his daughter knew more about his ex than he did but he also knew he deserved it. Letting out his exhale slowly, he stared at his tie rack and the three colours on it – blue, grey, and red. “I know,” he said, a touch too quiet to make sure she heard him. Friends. Why had he said friends, like that was something he knew how to be with Dean?

            “Do you still love him?”

            He picked a plain grey tie and slung it around his neck. “Stop Parent-Trapping us.”

            “I’ve never seen that movie.”

            He met her deadpan expression. “Well, that’s a tragedy.”

            “You should be jailed for neglect.”

            “I’ll bring it up with my parole officer.”

            She cracked a smile. “You think she’ll like me?”

            “Who wouldn’t?” Cas smiled at her in the mirror as he did the knot in the new tie. It looked plain against his white shirt but he left it on. He threw on a blue sports jacket, left his jeans on, and turned back to Claire who was braiding a section of her hair. “You should wipe the makeup off,” he said. “You don’t look like yourself.”

            “Don’t be that guy, dad.”

            “I just mean, she should love the way you look normally. And if makeup was your normal look, I’d be all for it.”

            Claire half-smiled, then rolled her eyes. “Don’t be sappy.”

            Cas grabbed his keys and wallet. “Be safe. Have fun.”

            “You too.”

            “Call if you run into trouble.”

            “And ruin your date?”

            Cas flipped her off and made for the front door, still pretending like he wasn’t shaking out of his skin. He got into the car idling at the curb and sat back as they headed into the city. He watched the neon lights of the converted motels go by, then the billboards, and finally the car slowed as they took the back way to the restaurant.

            He stepped out into the cool night and knocked twice on the backdoor. A man in a dark suit greeted him, then ushered him inside. He brought him to a private room, lit with low lights and decorated like a hunting cabin. He said a waitress would be with him soon. Cas double-checked that they knew he was waiting for someone, then sat down to peruse the wine list. He ordered a bottle of red and drank half his water glass. He checked his watch.

            The door swung open twenty minutes after six. Dean walked in, wearing old jeans and a white t-shirt under a black sport jacket, with a big smile on his face as he chatted with the waitress. He slung himself into the seat across from Cas, eyed the wine, then thanked the waitress as she left. It took a minute before he looked at Cas.

            “Thought you weren’t gonna show,” Cas said.

            “Would serve you right,” Dean said, “for picking a place like this.”

            “I wanted something discrete.”

            Dean let out an exhaled laugh and reached for the wine. He poured himself a hearty glass and then drank it like water. He put it down with a sigh.

            “Are you already drunk?”

            “Why?” He eyed Cas. “Worried you won’t catch up?”

            Cas rolled his eyes. “I thought we were going to talk.”

            “I don’t have big, serious talks with my friends.” Dean poured a generous amount of wine into Cas’ glass. “I get drunk with my friends. And that’s what we are, right? Friends?”

            The challenge was as clear in Dean’s eyes as it was in the big glass of wine he’d poured. Cas licked his lips, then reached for the glass. He knew, with every fibre of his being, that getting drunk with Dean was a bad idea. The first time, they’d ended up dry humping on a public street. Almost every time after that, they’d wound up in bed or puking or with TMZ on their tails. And Cas had no desire to walk into the grocery store to face a hundred rumours about him and Dean getting back together.

            But he had every desire to feel like he wasn’t walking back into a battlefield. So he drank. Dean ordered a second bottle of wine, the best steak on the menu, fries, and more wine. He winked at the waitress as he said, “Just keep them coming.”

            “We can’t drink that much wine,” Cas said when she left.

            “Fucking try me.”

            Cas almost laughed, almost. He tried to bury the part of him that worried about Dean, the part of him that had first tested him for addiction, the part of him that wanted to temper every wild impulse the other man had. It wasn’t his place anymore. And, if anything, Dean had proven that he had control in the last six months. Half a dozen benders and no missed events. The kind of tabloid stories that had almost gotten him kicked off his label but nothing but a shining smile on every promotional stop for the album. The man who Cas had been afraid to bring into his life mixed with the professional the label had wanted. Really, Dean had gotten the desired result out of their arrangement. Cas had too.

            He drank another glass of wine and let Dean pour him more.

            Conversation flowed easily. They talked about the kids, whose lives were as much a part of Dean’s as they were of Cas’. They spoke about events, crazy fans, and even swapped stories about how hard it was to get the paparazzi off their tails. Cas felt the alcohol softening his edges, dampening his fear to be alone in a room with Dean. And when he caught the glint in Dean’s eyes, the swipe of his tongue across his lip, his heartbeat sped up with something that didn’t seem to be fear.

            The steak tasted amazing and Cas hummed around every bite. Dean’s foot touched his under the table and Cas tried not to startle as he finished his fourth glass of wine. The world had started to get blurry around the edges. Warmth had settled in his stomach. He met Dean’s eyes over their empty plates and waved away the waitress when she offered dessert, asked her for the cheque instead.

            Dean reached across the table and brushed his thumb across Cas’ bottom lip. “Looks like you’re wearing lipstick,” he whispered.

            “You’re one to talk.” The wine had stained Dean’s mouth bright red like a stop light or a warning sign. Cas couldn’t take his eyes off of him.

            “I’m sorry,” Cas whispered. Dean started to pull back, but Cas caught his hand and held it between both of his. He kissed the tips of his fingers. “I’m so fucking sorry. I made the wrong decision and I regret it every single fucking day.”

            “Don’t.”

            “If I could take it back, if I could do it again, if I did it a thousand times again, I’d choose you. I’d choose you every damn time.”

            “Stop talking.”

            Cas opened his mouth to say more, to apologize again, to say anything that would stop Dean from looking at him with broken heart eyes. He felt a tear slip down his cheek. Dean leaned across the table and kissed it off his skin. Soon, their lips touched and Cas opened his mouth for Dean’s tongue. He felt his heart stop. He felt his brain stop. He only felt Dean’s tongue in his mouth, his callused hands cupping his cheeks, and the rough edge of the table separating them.

            “Call the car,” Dean said as he pulled away.

            Cas scrambled for his phone. By the time he got the driver to pull around, Dean had put his jacket back on and was settling the bill. Cas felt awkward as he approached him, shaking. Dean slipped his credit card back into his wallet and glanced over his shoulder at Cas, his eyes alcohol-glazed, but steady.

            “Are you sure?” Cas asked.

            Dean simply kissed him again. He kissed him until the car showed up. He kissed him in the back of the car. He did his best to kiss him up the three flights of stairs to Cas’ apartment and Cas didn’t have enough control of his tongue to protest, didn’t want to protest.

            As soon as the door shut behind them, Dean shoved off Cas’ jacket and pressed him up against the wall. Cas had missed those hands, their steady pressure, the way Dean’s fingers curled against his chest like he wanted to take a piece out of him. The moan that left Cas’ throat was shaky and unsure as Dean moved to kiss his neck, chuckling against his skin.

            Cas swallowed. “Claire might be home.”

            “Doubt that.” Dean pecked him on the lips as he started to undo the buttons of his shirt. “She’d have yelled at us already.”

            “We should still move this to the bedroom.”

            Dean groaned and stepped back. “You and your obsession with beds.” He started around the corner and Cas followed him, grabbing onto his arm when he turned the wrong way down the hall.

            He led Dean back to his bedroom, a dark but large room at the back of the apartment. He had a king-sized bed that he had barely made that morning – the grey sheets were still half on the floor – and the rest of the room was set up with matching furniture that made it look like two people slept there instead of one. Dean raised an eyebrow at him as they entered and Cas shrugged. “It looks better.”

            “You’re a moron.” Dean kissed him again and shoved his shirt off his shoulders. Cas crept his hands under Dean’s t-shirt, then pulled out of the kiss just to make sure this was really happening. He was really touching Dean again. He pulled his shirt over his head, then ran his fingers back down Dean’s abs, breathing heavily, trying to memorize every curve of his body just in case this was a fever dream.

            “I’m really drunk,” Cas whispered as he stared down at Dean’s body, as his fingers curled around the waistband of his jeans.

            “Good.” Dean grabbed him by the chin and kissed him again. “Stop thinking. Just do it.”

            Cas whimpered into the kiss, then undid the button on Dean’s jeans. He pushed down his pants and underwear all at once before grazing a hand over his half-hard cock. He moaned into the kiss, Dean pushing him back as he touched him, and Cas grasped his dick and started to stroke it even as Dean shoved him towards the bed.

            As the backs of his legs hit the bed, Cas managed to break the kiss enough to say, “Wait.” And, before Dean could protest, he pushed him back a step and got to his knees. He pressed his lips to the tip of Dean’s dick before licking up its length slowly. He forced himself to breathe, forced his throat to relax as he listened to the grumbled moan Dean let out. Then, he swallowed down his length, closing his eyes as he nestled his nose into the scratchy patch of hair at the end. He held onto Dean’s thighs tightly, digging his nails in.

            Dean’s hand came down in his hair and brushed through it with gentle fingers. Cas worked at his own pace, pulling off slowly as he swirled his tongue and then working his way back up with a careful scrape of his teeth. He felt Dean’s legs shake under his hands. His fingers curled in his hair. Cas tasted the salty edge of precome as Dean got harder under the cautious pressure of his lips.

            “Jesus, Cas.”

            Cas popped off. “You’re not that good at listing angels.”

            Dean let out a weak laugh as he tilted Cas’ head back with his hand. “You want me to list angels while you fuck me? Is that the kink your little Catholic-upbringing ingrained in you?”

            Cas smiled up at him. “It’s an old trick to stop from coming. Try to list all the angels in the bible. Or all the disciples.”

            “I couldn’t list more than two.”

            “Look at me.” Cas kissed Dean’s hip, then his chest as he got to his feet. “Not even fucking a good Catholic boy.”

            Dean shoved him back onto the mattress and crawled on top of him. “Who says you’re fucking anyone?”

            “Don’t try me,” Cas whispered even as Dean dipped down to kiss him again. He let himself get lost in the pressure of Dean’s lips for a second and then let out a heavy breath as Dean undid his zipper. “I know you. I know what you like.”

            Dean pulled off Cas’ pants as he kissed down the length of his neck. His cock grazed Cas’ hip, hard and wet, and Cas felt his hips buck up in response. Chuckling, Dean pushed him back down with a hand on his hip and wrapped his other hand around Cas’ cock. Cas groaned in response.

            “No use pretending not to like bottoming then, huh?” Dean said.

            “You couldn’t pretend for a second,” Cas managed as he tried to control his breathing. The way Dean’s fingers twisted around him made him wanted to thrust into his hand, fuck between his fingers until he came. “You begged me to fuck you that first time. I wasn’t even gonna ask.”

            “Too many people don’t.” Dean’s hand slipped off of him and Cas whined. Dean reached across him to get to the bedside table, pulling out lube and condoms.

            “Since when do you use condoms?” Cas said.

            “Since I don’t know who you fucked last.”

            Cas rolled his eyes as he shifted up the bed. He pushed himself into a sitting position against the pillows as Dean spread the lube on his fingers, considering. Cas felt his cock aching between his legs and he really couldn’t care less what happened next – Dean fucked him, he fucked Dean, they jacked each other off or sucked each other off – as long as he came. “You know,” he said.

            “Bela?”

            “You.”

            Dean looked up at him, a wary look in his eyes.

            “I had a three years dry spell between you and Kelly. Six months can’t really be all that surprising to you.”

            “Bela doesn’t seem like the type to wait.”

            “She was surprisingly shy.”

            Dean watched him for a long moment and Cas had to fight the urge to school his features. He wasn’t lying. If anything, all he had to hide was the intense earnestness that must be evident on his face, the lust in his eyes, the love that he felt pouring out of him. He watched the man sitting on the end of the bed, the man watching him, the man he loved almost more than anything else.

            “Dean—”

            “Shut up.” Dean cursed and rose up on his knees as he brought his fingers behind him. As he sank back onto his fingers with a strangled groan, he muttered, “Why can’t you follow simple fucking instructions?”

            “Sorry.” Cas reached for the condoms but Dean batted them out of the way. Cas looked up at him with a curious expression. “How do I know who you fucked last?”

            “Haven’t fucked anyone since I got tested two weeks ago.” Dean shifted up the bed, even as he twisted his fingers inside himself. Cas reached out to steady Dean, his hands on his thighs, as Dean settled onto Cas’ legs. “And I got a clean bill of health.”

            He kissed him and Cas almost pulled out of it. He wanted to see the look on Dean’s face as he fingered himself, not just hear the grunting whimpers as he fucked into himself. He felt himself getting harder just from the sounds, from Dean’s chest pressing against his hard dick. “Dean...” he grumbled.

            “No more words.” Dean shifted and grabbed Cas’ cock. With surprising restraint, he sunk down onto it, his breathing heavy, breaking the kiss as he took Cas in.

            Cas tried to breathe through the tight, hot sensation around his dick. He didn’t remember Dean this tight, this unpracticed. He forced his eyes open, even as they tried to flutter closed, and watched Dean squint his eyes as he took him in. He bit into his bottom lip until blood spouted on it and Cas licked it off before nibbling along the edge of his jaw. Dean grasped onto his shoulder as he bottomed out, cursing, and then settled.

            Dean’s whole body shook. Cas’ body shook as well. He kept his face pressed into the crook of Dean’s neck, breathing heavily, feeling Dean’s breath on the side of his face. The sweat between their bodies made the room feel hot, humid. Cas grasped Dean’s thigh and his hip, trying to hold him steady as his ass tightened and loosened around him. Cas whimpered against his skin.

            “Just give me a second,” Dean whispered, his voice soothing. “One more second.”

            Cas nodded against his skin.

            “Fuck, Cas. Did you get bigger?”

            “Those penis enlargement pills really do work,” he joked, his voice almost non-existent.

            Dean kissed his shoulder as he chuckled. “Are you really that hoarse? You sucked me off for like a minute.”

            “I’d do it for longer.” Cas swallowed down all his fear. He felt the alcohol and the promise of sex fill him with courage. “If you want, I’d warm your cock for hours. You could sit in the studio and play the guitar and I’d just... suck you off.”

            Dean laughed but it sounded strained. “You think I could play a guitar with your head in my lap?”

            “We could work out the kinks.”

            “I like the kinks.” Thighs trembling, Dean pulled up an inch and then sank back down. He sat upright, keeping his grip on Cas’ shoulder to steady himself. He rose up a little more and then went down. Cas bit his tongue and tried not to whimper, to moan, to beg.

            Dean met his eyes and Cas held his gaze, licked his lips. Dean moved almost all the way up and sank back down a little too fast as his thighs gave. Cas gripped him tighter. “Careful,” he whispered.

            “Silence, remember?”

            “I’m not good at it.”

            “Not at all.” Dean leaned in to kiss him as he picked up the pace of his thrusts, just slightly. Still, there was a pause between his every movement, and his thighs shook under Cas’ fingertips.

            Cas pushed into the kiss, moving forward to give Dean a better angle. As Dean breathed heavy into the kiss, Cas wrapped his arms around him to grasp his ass. He thrust up into him, causing Dean to gasp, and then, took over the pacing. Dean groaned against his lips, his teeth scraping Cas’ skin. Cas tried to breathe as Dean’s tongue made its way into his mouth, sloppy and wet, and he continued to thrust up into him.

            Dean just barely got back control of his legs, enough to keep up with Cas’ pace and move in rhythm with him. Cas broke the kiss and bit down on Dean’s shoulder. As he thrust up, Dean sank down onto him, and they both groaned. He tightened himself around Cas and Cas felt every muscle in his body shake.

            He fucked into Dean with all he had, forgot about thinking, forgot about talking. He mumbled nonsense into Dean’s skin and sunk into the pain of Dean’s teeth on the shell of his ear. Dean whimpered against him and Cas adjusted his grip enough to get a hand on Dean’s dick.

            “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Dean whispered as Cas started to jerk him off, fast and rough. He came easily and Cas kept touching him, kept fucking him through it. When Dean finished, Cas started to pull out but Dean sank back down onto his cock. “Keep going.”

            “I don’t want to hurt you.”

            “You haven’t.”

            Cas met his green eyes and nodded. He thrust into him and Dean met him with a shaky movement of his hips. Cas tried not to whimper, but he couldn’t. He chased his own orgasm with the weight of Dean on top of him, with the other man’s come drying on his chest. He could barely manage to breathe, let alone respond to the searching, quick kisses that Dean lay on his lips.

            He came just as Dean’s cock let out a second, smaller burst of come. He felt himself spilling out and he collapsed onto the bed. Dean pushed him down with a hand on his chest and continued to ride out the rest of his orgasm, his eyelids fluttering until they finally closed.

            He shifted off of Cas and rolled to the side, his head landing on Cas’ outstretched arm. Cas closed his eyes to the dim lighting, listened to their out of sync breath, and the beat of his own heart. Before Dean could move, Cas curled his arm around him and pulled him in. Dean’s head landed on his chest and he pressed a kiss to the edge of Cas’ breast. Cas felt his breathing slow as the night and alcohol caught up with him.


	75. Chapter 75

Dean woke up with the sickening sensation of looking down a thousand foot drop. He felt like he’d fallen asleep on the edge of a cliff and woken up to stare certain death in the face. Of course, he really woke up on Cas’ chest, dried come sticky and uncomfortable on the back of his legs, and a wet spot on the corner of his mouth that was pressed to Cas’ skin. The panicked part of him wanted to slip out from under Cas’ arm, out of his bed, and out of his life. He had just made the worst mistake of his life – or the best, depending on how he played it. And that was the cliff.

            He waited, his heart beating much too fast, until Cas’ eyes blinked open. Sleep crusted at the corner of his blue eyes. Dean reached up to rub it away and Cas flinched back with a smile. Before Dean could move, Cas shifted forward and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Good morning.”

            Dean swallowed and his heart went straight into his stomach. “We shouldn’t have.”

            Cas blinked at him.

            Dean turned away and swung his legs over the side of the bed, but he didn’t trust himself to stand. He gripped the edge of the mattress to stop himself from shaking. Before him, the blank grey wall told him nothing, showed him nothing. Dean wished for a sign, wished for the first time that he was a religious man with something to pray too. But the only steady force in his life was Cas.

            “This was a mistake,” Dean said.

            “You kissed me.”

            Dean nodded slowly. He didn’t feel the bed shift, didn’t hear the springs squeak. When he glanced over his shoulder, Cas was still lying on his back, his eyes open and wide and honest and scared. “I did.”

            “Why?”

            Dean couldn’t even shrug or shake his head. He just stared.

            Cas sat up and shifted closer. The bed was so wide, so long, that Dean easily could have gotten out of the way if he’d wanted to, if his legs worked. Cas wrapped an arm around his waist and kissed his shoulder. He stayed like that for a long moment before he looked up again, his eyes meeting Dean’s.

            With the kind of calm, seasoned adultness that had made Dean hate him in the first place, Cas said, “I love you, okay?”

            “I love you, too.”

            A weak smile pressed on Cas’ lips.

            Dean shifted out of his grip and got to his feet. He found his clothes on the floor and started to dress, ignoring the pressure of Cas’ eyes on his back. He wanted to take back those three words. He wanted to be unable to say them with unflinching honesty. But here he was and here was Cas, as simply and easily as if nothing bad had ever happened.

            “It kills me that this is where we are now,” Cas said.

            Dean turned to look at him.

            Cas sat in the middle of the bed, cross-legged, sheets tangled over his lap. He stared at his own intertwined fingers. “If this is it, if this is what we’re going to be, that’s fine. If you can’t forgive me, I understand. If it’s going to take longer, I’m okay with that.” He looked up suddenly, his blue eyes filled with tears. “But if we’re never getting back together, then that’s something I need to know. Because I can’t do this again. I won’t.”

            “You won’t?” Dean let out a heavy laugh. He blinked back the tears in his eyes. “You won’t do this again? You’re the one who broke _my_ fucking heart!”

            “You think it was that easy?”

            “You made a split-second decision. Don’t you dare fucking lie to me.”

            “I did. And I would apologize a hundred, even a thousand, times if I thought it would get me anywhere with you, but I know it won’t.” Cas got up and started to pull on his pants. As he did the button, he continued, “We can get through this. I know we can get through this because if you love me even half as much as I love you, then we’re strong enough to overcome this.”

            “If you loved me even half as much as I love you, you wouldn’t have left.”

            Cas froze, his hands stills on his zipper. When he looked up, his eyes were blank and angry and hurt. Dean hated him for thinking he had even half a right to look at him like that.

            “You think you’re the only one who’s angry?” Cas said. “I wish you hadn’t put me in that position. But you did. You slept with Hailey and all those other fans and—”

            “We weren’t together at the time.”

            “We had a deal. And that deal included you keeping it in your fucking pants. And if you had—”

            “Then I never would have known that your career and reputation are more important to you than I am?”

            “Do you have any idea how unhealthy that sounds? I’m allowed to have a fucking life, Dean.”

            “Silly me. I thought you wanted me in it.” Dean bit down on the side of his tongue, willing himself not to cry. But, when he opened his mouth again, his voice cracked. “I broke our deal. Fine. Okay. Be angry about that. But don’t you dare stand there and pretend its half as bad as what you did to me. You looked me in the eye and asked me to commit to you. You told me you wanted to be family. And then I make one mistake, one false step, and the truth comes out.”

            Dean swallowed hard and tried to blink the tears away, but they still escaped. “I’m not good enough for you. The real me, the guy you saw when we first met, the fucking mess that is my life – it’s not good enough for you. The person you were in love with is the one you built for the tabloids, for your reputation, for mine. And when the first guy came back, you didn’t want him. And you let me know it. So don’t stand there and fucking pretend that breaking a deal we made as strangers was half as bad as you looking me in the eye and telling me I’m not good enough when we were in love.”

            Cas stared at him, his mouth open, and Dean could almost see his heart break. Then he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing hard, and said, “That’s not what I thought.”

            “It’s what it fucking felt like.”

            “Dean...” Cas trailed off. He stepped forward and reached out a tentative hand before placing it on Dean’s arm. He squeezed and Dean resisted the urge to flinch. “It wasn’t about you.”

            Dean pulled away, shaking his head.

            “No, listen.” Cas grabbed onto him again and pulled him back. Dean refused to look up at him, refused to give him the satisfaction. For a long moment, there was nothing but the feeling of Cas’ hot breath on his face. When the silence became worse than looking at him, Dean met his eyes again.

            “I wasn’t good enough,” Cas said. “Not you, me. You could do anything in the press and bounce back from it. You were larger than fucking life. But me? One misstep, one false move, and I would be a pariah again.

             “You’re right. I chose my career over you. I chose my reputation over you. I thought... I thought it was more important to continue earning money and moving forward and taking care of my kids than it was to be with the man I loved. But, if these past few months have taught me anything, it’s that I can live without you but I don’t want to.”

            Dean stayed silent. He set his jaw. He wanted so badly to not trust the apology, to not want to accept it. But he felt his heart swell with every word, with every admission that Cas had been wrong.

            “You’re enough.” Cas stepped closer. “You’re more than enough. You’re everything I’ve ever dreamed of. You’re the love of my fucking life.”

            “You didn’t stalk me.”

            Cas exhaled a laugh that turned into a sniff. Tears sparkled in his eyes. “I’ll understand if you can’t,” he whispered, “but if we’re being honest, and I want to be, the only thing missing from my life right now is you. Everything would be perfect if I had you.”

            “You’re the only thing I want.” Dean kissed him, felt his lips respond, felt their bodies fall together with the kind of ease that made his knees go weak. But he broke the kiss fast, stepping back and wiping tears from his eyes. “But it’s not going to work.”

            “Why not?”

            “Because I don’t live in the fucking fantasy world where all that matters is that we love each other?” Dean turned away to look for his shirt. When he found it, he pulled it over his head a little too slowly, his hitched breathing probably giving him away.

            “We’ll figure it out,” Cas said. He sounded almost angry as he spoke to Dean’s back. “We don’t have to live in a fantasy world. We’ll sit down and talk about what happened, what can’t happen again, what worked and what didn’t. We’ll rebuild it, all of it, step by step. We’ll go to a fucking therapist and we’ll sit down with Sam to make it official and we’ll work really fucking hard to make this something stable.”

            Dean turned back to him. He saw the set of Cas’ jaw, the tears rolling down his cheeks, the anger in his eyes. “Don’t you want to make this work?” Cas snapped.

            Dean held back the truth on his tongue. “We do all that and it takes months before we’re anything like we were. And then, in January, I’m back on tour. And you’re here. And we both know the long distance thing doesn’t work.”

            “We haven’t tried it. Not really.”

            He bit his tongue. “I’m sorry, Cas. It’s not in the cards.”

            “Right.”

            Dean forced himself to hold Cas’ broken gaze for a moment more before he turned away. He checked that all his things were still in his pockets, then left the bedroom. He wandered into the living room he knew so well and past the kitchen. On his way out, he saw a sticky note pressed against the fridge. Claire’s neat penmanship – something she faked, Dean was sure – read: _hope you two had fun last night ;)_

Dean crumpled it and threw it in the trash. No point in Cas knowing he’d broke his daughter’s heart too.


	76. Chapter 76

The world still turned. Cas found that ridiculous and mind-boggling. He told Charlie the truth – about his night with Dean, about the conversation after, everything – and she did her best to get him through it. But with the taping schedule and the world turning, Cas had little time to think, to rest, to figure out what to do with his life. That little part of him that had always thought the split would be temporary shrunk into nothingness.

            Months passed. He had Thanksgiving and Christmas with Kelly and the kids. He laughed through an interview where everyone asked for spoilers from the fall finale’s cliffhanger – had Mason really poisoned Rebecca? Would she survive? And Cas kept all the secrets close to his chest, holding them over his real secrets to keep his broken heart in one beating piece.

            It felt like January rolled around before he even blinked. And Cas sat on Jimmy Kimmel’s set, the audience roaring, barely aware he was alive. The winter premiere was that night; it may have already aired – he didn’t know.

            “Cas? Cas?”

            Cas blinked and looked up. Jimmy stared at him, half-concerned, half-laughing.

            “Sorry.”

            “You must have spaced out there.”

            Cas forced a smile. “It’s been a long day.” That didn’t feel like a lie, even though it was one. He’d woken up at almost noon, got on a plane, and ended up here. It wasn’t even night – pre-taped shows were a must when he fucked up on screen as much as he did now. His therapist tried to keep his feet on the ground. Cas thought she did a fantastic job, considering. He thought he did a fantastic job of living his life despite the fact that every errant thought somehow morphed back into Dean telling him that loving him wasn’t enough.

            “You’re a busy man,” Jimmy said.

            “Very busy.”

            “Any plans for later tonight?”

            Cas laughed. “I sure hope not.”

            “So no truth to the rumours that you and Dean might be getting back together?”

            Cas blinked at the non-sequitur.

            “He has a concert in town tonight,” Jimmy prompted.

            “Oh.” Cas shrugged. “No. No truth.”

            Jimmy smiled, almost soft. “Still can’t forgive him?”

            Cas stared at him. That tiny, almost non-existent spark of hope rallied in his chest. He licked his lips. Dean had a concert in town. He could take one last swing at it, tell Dean he couldn’t care less about the long distance, that they would figure things out, and, if he failed, he could return to his normal life. To what he’d thought he wanted. He could move on.

            “I have nothing to forgive him for,” Cas said. “Dean did nothing wrong.”

            “He cheated on you.”

            Cas shook his head. “The whole thing was a lie.” He waited for the audience to gasp but no sound came. He locked his eyes on Jimmy. “We came up with a plan to get me back in Hollywood’s good graces and get Dean’s contract renewed with his label. Two birds, one stone. We dated so that my name would become known and his reputation would get better. It was a sham right up until it wasn’t.”

            “What are you saying?”

            “I fell in love with him. He fell in love with me. And I... I would have fucking married him if he had offered me that ring. I would have.” Cas shifted to the edge of his seat and swallowed down the rising panic in his chest. He could almost hear Charlie trying to get the interview cancelled, trying to get the producers not to air it. “But, at the start, it was all fake. Dean never cheated on me. He never did anything wrong. And I broke his heart because I was afraid of what people would think of me if I told you the truth or if I spun another lie and said I forgave him for cheating.

            “If you guys want to hate someone for the end of Destiel, hate me. I fucked up. I broke his heart. And I am so sorry. For everything.”

            Jimmy licked his lips and then gestured to someone off camera before leaning forward and saying, “You want to say that again without the profanity? Or take it back?”

            Cas met his eyes. “Without the profanity.” And, when the cameras rolled again, he calmly repeated himself without cursing. He nearly chewed a hole through his bottom lip but he made it through the speech again without crying.

            When they cut, he got up and walked backstage. He knew it wouldn’t be hard for them to excuse his absence from the second interview after what he’d just said. His hands shook so he forced them into fists. He looked after the PAs running, whispering, and felt his heartbeat slow to something nearing normal.

            Charlie grabbed his arm. “That was stupid.”

             “Can you get me to Dean’s concert?”

            “What?”

            “Charlie, you said you want me to be happy, right?” He grasped her hands and held on tight. She nodded, so he continued, “Call Chuck. Tell him not to tell Dean. I have a plan.”

 

Cas shook behind the curtains. He heard the bass pouring off the stage, Dean’s husky voice, and the thousands of screaming fans. He held the microphone too tight in his hand and irrationally feared he might crush it. Chuck had already given him his two minute warning. Cas prayed he hadn’t forgotten the lyrics, that his voice wouldn’t crack on stage, and that Dean would forgive him. More than anything else, he hoped Dean had meant it when he said the only obstacle was the distance.

            “We’re ready.” Chuck grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into the wings. Onstage, Dean was saying his _thank you_ s and _goodbye_ s, getting ready to end the night before the encore. He looked sweaty and tired as he half-spoke and half tried to drink water.

            The music started. Dean startled, laughing slightly, and looked behind him at the band.

            Chuck pushed Cas forward.

            Cas took a steadying breath and stepped onto the stage. He heard the crowd scream and Dean turned to him, his expression going blank, all his fatigue surfacing. Cas swallowed his fear and started to sing.

            _“I found a love for me.”_ He stepped closer and held Dean’s terrified gaze. He tried to smile. _“Darling, just dive right in and follow my lead.”_

He shook as he sang, stepping forward with every word until he stood about a foot away from a frozen Dean. Dean’s mouth had opened but he’d said nothing and the fear didn’t leave his eyes. _“Baby, I’m dancing in the dark. With you between my arms. Barefoot on the grass, listening to our favourite song.”_

Cas offered his hand to Dean and Dean took it. He pulled him close, wrapped an arm around his waist, as he sang, _“Darling, you look perfect tonight.”_

Dean’s forehead knocked against his and Cas tried not to drop the song when he saw the tears in Dean’s eyes. He sniffed back his own, pressing close, hoping he wasn’t confusing the warmth in Dean’s gaze with the warmth of the stage lights. Their noses brushed together as he forced himself to breathe, to sing, to keep pushing forward.

            _“We are still kids, but we’re so in love, fighting against all odds. I know we’ll be all right this time.”_ As he sang, Cas was just barely aware of the crowd going wild. He saw the flashes out of the corner of his eye, heard the screams and shouts. But to him, Dean was all there was, his face half-illuminated by the stage lights and half in darkness. Tears dripped down his cheeks and he had on a goofy smile, the kind he couldn’t possibly have made by will, but had to have come on its own.

            “You suck at singing,” Dean whispered, but the mic caught it.

            Cas laughed. “You sing then.”

            Dean shook his head, still smiling, still crying.

            Cas sniffed back the worst of his tears. _“I see my future in your eyes,”_ he sang, laughing just a little as Dean kissed his nose and then kissed the words right off his lips. He kissed him for too long, too hard, and Cas lost his breath. _“I don’t deserve this.”_

“You do,” Dean whispered. He kissed him again. “You do.”

            The song ended without either of them singing because Cas sunk into the kiss and forgot about the microphone, the music, the crowd at their feet. He wrapped his arms around Dean and kissed him until the lights went out around them. He startled when Dean pulled out of the kiss and started to move them both towards the curtains.

            The sharp light of backstage shocked Cas back into reality and he turned to Dean with his heart pounding in his chest. “Take me on tour,” he said, too quickly for Dean to get a word out. “Claire’s in college and she needs her space and Jack can see me when we go to Florida and—”

            He was cut off by Dean’s lips pressing against his, by the laughter on his skin. Dean pulled back, smiling. “That was stupid,” he said, breathless. “That was so fucking dumb, Cas.”

            “But you liked it.”

            “I fucking love you.” He kissed him again, rough and sweet.

            Cas broke the kiss with a sniffle. He felt the tears on his cheeks, the snot in his nose, and Dean blurred a little when he looked up at him. “Is that a yes?”

            “Yes.” Dean took his face in his hands. “Please come on tour with me. Please keep doing stupid, ridiculous things like that. Please forgive me.”

            “Forgive you?” Cas shook his head. “Forgive _me_.”

            “I forgive you.” Dean breathed out the words like a promise, like a prayer, as he pressed their foreheads together again. He shook with hidden sobs even as he smiled. He pressed a hard kiss to Cas’ forehead and pulled back. “I need to go back out there, do the encore, but—”

            “I’m not going anywhere.” Cas grabbed his hand and squeezed. “I’ll be here. Always.”

            Dean kissed him again and then ran back onstage. Cas crept to the edge of the curtains to watch him in all his lit-up glory, to watch as the crowd screamed his name, _their_ names, and Dean laughed and smiled and blew kisses into the crowd. He shouted, “Do you want to see Cas again or do you want to hear some music?”

            “CAS!” the crowd screamed.

            “Well, fuck you, you’re getting music.”

            Cas laughed and Dean looked his way. With a wink, he started to sing their song. _“We broke down the doors, first night out. Met you downtown, you let your wild side out.”_


	77. Epilogue

Dean sat down on the back of the moving truck and let out a heavy breath. Sweat beaded on his brow and he wondered, not for the first time, whose idea it had been to move at the height of summer. And whose idea it had been to move themselves, instead of hiring stronger men with more stamina to do it for them.

            Claire hit him on the shoulder as she made her way up the ramp into the truck. “You’re losing,” she said.

            “Fuck you.” He leaned against the wall. “You have youth on your side.”

            “You have Jack,” she said, “versus little ol’ me, Kaia, and my mom.” She gave him a pointed look as she sat down next to him, swinging her legs off the edge. “You should be winning, especially with all the heavy ass boxes you guys packed.”

            “Not my fault Cas has so many books,” Dean grumbled.

            Claire smiled up at him.

            “What?”

            She shrugged and looked away. “I’m just... happy.”

            Dean let out an exhaled laugh and swung his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. “Of course you’re happy,” he said. “You get that sweet motel apartment all to yourself now.”

            He looked up the drive at the new house. Their house. It was bigger than the house in Kansas but just as classic. The white colonial sat on top of a hill; its red door and matching trim popped in the sunlight. It even had a white picket fence and an old-school mailbox that Cas had painted the words _Novak-Winchester_ on. Dean stared at the mailbox now, unable to help the smile that spread across his lips.

            They had finished the tour on a good note. He had sold out stadiums across the country and Cas had flown with him for most of the trip. When scheduling got in the way, they Skyped and emailed and called and texted and flirted over Instagram. Cas made it a point to tell the truth to everyone he could, to make sure everyone knew Dean was important to him, right up until Dean had told him to stop, that he believed him, that he knew. How could he not know when Cas had been house hunting since the day they got back together? When Cas had stepped out on stage and sang a love song to him?

            Cas approached now, a frown on his face. “Are you letting her distract you?” He stepped up onto the ramp and stopped, unable to control his smile. “You know we can’t let them win.”

            “Don’t want to buy your ex-wife ice cream?” Dean said as he got to his feet.

            “What would the tabloids say?” Cas joked.

            “Probably that you’ve finally got your shit together.” Kelly avoided the ramp altogether and hopped up into the truck. She gestured to Claire, who got to her feet to help her mom lift an armoire. “I’m starting to think you two made this a competition so we’d do most of the heavy lifting.”

            Cas smiled at her. “Guilty.”

            As she handed the armoire off to Kaia on the ground, Kelly shot him a menacing glare and said, “I suppose it’s fair after I forced you to help me move into that walk-up last month.”

            “At least we only have two floors.”

            Kelly went after the girls, directing them through the door, and Cas settled down beside Dean. Dean knocked his foot into Cas’. “I’m glad we’re doing this,” he said. “Again.”

            “Hey, at least we got the order sort of right this time.”

            “I wouldn’t want it perfect.” He kissed Cas, letting his lips linger and then pulling away as footsteps approached.

            Jack looked up at them with a disappointed expression and crossed his arms. “You two aren’t even trying to win, are you?”

            Dean patted the spot on his other side, then offered Jack a hand to help him up. As he sat, Dean said, “Here’s the thing, kid. You can do the work yourself, you can pay someone else to do it, or you can buy ice cream for three women trying to prove that they’re stronger than you. And, as long as you have a healthy ego, letting the women win is the cheapest and least physically taxing option.”

            Jack frowned. “That doesn’t seem very feminist-friendly.”

            Dean almost laughed but he bit his lip as he caught Cas’ eye. He gripped Jack’s shoulder and shook him just a little. “It’s all about perspective,” he said. “Isn’t that what you teach your cult?”

            Jack rolled his eyes. “It’s not a cult.”

            Dean exchanged another glance with Cas before getting to his feet. Together, the three of them lifted out the dining room table and made their way into the kitchen. After a few more trips, the truck was unloaded and Cas took it back to the U-Haul station with Kelly. Dean pulled beers out of the fridge, which Claire took and Jack refused, and the three of them settled down in the living room.

            For a while, they talked and joked and Jack told them his plans for his senior year in L.A. and possibly going to UCLA with Claire the next year. Claire faked disgust but couldn’t hide her joy at having her brother back in town. When the conversation lulled and Dean checked the time, Claire asked, “Are you going to do it today?”

            Dean met her curious gaze. “Maybe.”

            “Do what?”

            He looked over his shoulder to see Cas and Kelly in the doorway, both holding pizza boxes. They set down the boxes. Kelly sat between her kids on the couch and Cas settled on the armrest of Dean’s chair. Dean reached for him and pulled him down, their hips knocking together as he landed in Dean’s lap. Dean wrapped his arms around him before he could struggle or shift out of it.

            Cas looked down at him with happy, bright blue eyes and Dean felt his heart swell. Even tired and sweaty and annoyed from the move, Cas still looked at him like he could change the world with a snap of his fingers. And, he supposed, right at that moment, he could.

            “I have something for you,” Dean said, “if you want it.”

            Cas raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

            Dean nodded and then reached out his leg to tap his foot against the side of the coffee table. “I hid it in the drawer.”

            “That’s romantic,” Claire said and Jack shushed her.

            Cas glanced over at them, curious and confused, and they both carefully trained their expressions to neutral. Dean glared at both of them, imploring them to keep their poker faces, and then shifted his gaze to Kelly, who had her hand over her mouth to hide her excitement. He shook his head at all of them and turned his attention back to Cas, who had leaned forward to open the drawer.

            He reached his hand inside and froze. His face went blank – some mixture of shock and happiness, Dean hoped – and then he pulled back with the ring box in the palm of his hand. He stared at it for a long moment and Dean tried to stop his heart from crawling out of his mouth. Then Cas looked at him, swallowed, and managed, “Is this...?”

            “Yes.” Dean blinked the tears out of his eyes. “If you want it.”

            Cas nodded, tears filling his own eyes, and kissed Dean hard. Dean kissed him back as their family cheered and he felt his heart finally settle into the right place. When Cas broke the kiss, Dean reached for the ring box and opened it to reveal the thin gold band inside, sparkling with tiny diamonds.

            He took Cas’ hand and slipped the ring on, then folded both his hands around his fingers. He pressed his lips to Cas’ knuckles and looked up at him, trying hard not to cry at the look on Cas’ face – the happiness through the tears, the earnest look in his eyes, the answer as clear as day on his unopened lips.

            “Castiel Novak,” Dean whispered. He paused, swallowed, and tried again. “Castiel Novak, the love of my fucking life, the man of my dreams, the only person in the whole world who I would give my heart to twice, will you marry me?”

            Cas’ whole face screwed up as he tried not to cry and he nodded. He kissed Dean again and again and again, his hand making its way out of Dean’s grip to cup his face. He pulled back with a snotty smile, his whole face a mess, and Dean knew he’d never seen anything more beautiful and that he never would.

            “Dean Winchester,” Cas choked out. He paused and let out a shaky sob. “In front of my family and all the people I love, I will marry you. I love you, so fucking much, and I promise I will never cause you pain again.”

            Dean kissed him even though he was gross and it tasted like salt. Even as the rest of the family laughed and the pizza got cold and Kelly realized Claire was drinking beer. Dean kissed Cas like he might not get to again, even though he’d get to kiss him for the rest of his life. And, with that thought in mind, he uncurled himself from Cas, wiped away the tears, and reached for the food.

            “Of course,” Cas said. “Pizza always wins out over me.”

            Dean shot him a mischievous look. “Pizza pales in comparison. But, come on, Cas, your kids are here.”

            Cas went beet red as Claire screamed her disgust and Kelly shook her head at them and Jack choked on the pizza. Dean wrapped his arm tighter around Cas and offered him a slice, which he took to hide the blush on his cheeks. As the hours snuck away from them, they sank into easy conversation about the wedding, the future, and every good thing to come.


End file.
